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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096306">MeloMania</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagme/pseuds/kagme'>kagme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>MeloMania [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Childhood Friends, Dragons, Eventual Smut, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Music, Plot, War, modern elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:48:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>86,696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagme/pseuds/kagme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Melo : <em>Ancient Greek</em> Melody, Singing<br/>Mania: <em>Ancient Greek</em> Madness, Excessive passion</p><p>“It’s going to be okay, Eddy,” he kept saying. “We’ll find a way. This isn’t over, I promise I’ll find a way to reach you. I’ll do it.”</p><p>They had never heard back from anybody who had left the Tower. It seemed a crazy promise, but he wouldn’t let a bunch of stuck up old men stand in their way.</p><p>“You better,” his best friend mumbled, finally raising his head. His eyes were blotchy, and his nose was runny. “I swear if you die, I’ll find a spell to bring you back-”</p><p>“Just so you can kill me again, hey. I’ve heard that line before. Doesn’t seem very smart though, so I don’t think you’ll actually do it.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re right, I would just bring you back,” he sniffled.</p><p>“You won’t have to. I swear. I’ll stay alive, and I’ll find a way to reach you from the outside, trust me.”</p><p>“I do,” his best friend smiled weakly.</p><p>“Do you want to play tonight? No magic, just music.”</p><p>“Yeah. Navarra?”</p><p>“Navarra.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddy Chen &amp; Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>MeloMania [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>207</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue (I won’t mention your name)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">

        <li>
          Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25876411">【授权翻译】MeloMania</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonnayoly/pseuds/Jonnayoly">Jonnayoly</a>
        </li>


    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey! Welcome to my mage AU I kept talking about in my other breddy fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24678856/chapters/59638285">An Essay about Why Best Friends are the Very Best (by Brett Yang)</a> (damn that title is a hassle to type).</p><p>I wrote like a madwoman this last week, I had forgotten how long and taxing it was to start a fantasy world. Can you believe it, I have actual plot! (I thought it was worth mentioning it in a tag). I don’t know yet how long it will be, but around 15 chapters I’ll say.</p><p>I put <em>a lot</em> of effort into this, and I know working hard for something doesn’t mean it’s good or will be appreciated, but I’m still hoping very hard this will be liked :) this is very different from what I wrote before, so I have no idea how it’ll be received. Fingers crossed.</p><p>Thank you Ria for your beta reading, you are so efficient!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The first letter. The one who started it all.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>EDIT (29/01/2021): I found it!! If anybody who is reading this played <a href="https://aselia.fandom.com/wiki/Tales_of_Zestiria">Tales of Zestiria</a>, I finally found the fic that inspired MeloMania! I read it years ago, and couldn't remember the name or even the fandom, but it left a huge mark on me, and some of MeloMania's key concepts come from this. As I was coming back to the fandom yesterday, I found it by complete accident but I'm so happy, it was such a brilliant fic (unfortunately unfinished, but still worth a read) go check it out if you're interested, it's <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/9986051/chapters/22304870">Knight and Mage</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Prologue (I won’t mention your name):</h1><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>7th of July, 51</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I thought I knew what ‘war’ was my whole life. Heck, I don’t even remember </span>
    </em>
    <span>not</span>
    <em>
      <span> being at war. And then, in the goddamn Tower, all they said was ‘war’, ‘war’, ‘war’. But ‘war’ is nothing like what we have imagined, like what they’ve told us. That shit is terrifying, man, and I want to go home. I never thought I would say that, but I’m getting tired of playing (can’t even begin to imagine how you feel). You know what the worst is? As a melomage, I’m not even the most endangered one, I’m mostly safe in the rear lines. But I’ve managed to make friends, regular, non-melomages knights, and I’m scared for their life every time they disappear out of my sight on the battlefield. I’d love to feel better knowing I don’t have to fear for </span>
    </em>
    <span>your </span>
    <em>
      <span>life, but I’m not sure being locked up in that shitty Tower (I decided I would use a different swear word every time I mention the bloody Tower, see where that leads me) is any better. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I don’t have much time, we were attacked by our dead knights’ corpses transforming into ghouls today (they’re disgusting, you’re so lucky you only saw them on paper) and we’re still dealing with the aftermath. I’m pretty sure you’ll hear about it cause some higher-up who came to check on the situation said they would ask your lot to craft new artifacts to stop our deads from turning. Good luck with that, sounds like a pain - thanks for the earring, by the way, I swear there were nights in winter my fingers would have fallen off without it. I don’t get why there aren't a few of you defenses with us on the front, would be so useful. But hey, I’m not gonna tell the government how to do its job. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>The only good news in all of this is that first, I’ve met some of the high mages we’ve only heard about. They’re damn cool, bro, you should have heard them play, I got shivers! And also, I’ve managed to finally find a way to send you a letter, the person bringing this to you is the most brilliant in the whole world. I’m still fanboying as I’m writing but I guess if you read this, it means you’ve met them already and you have no choice but to agree with me. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I’m not mentioning their name, yours, or mine, in case any of those fuckers intercept this. I don’t think I need to tell you to do the same when you manage to answer. Since talks of a peace treaty have started with the East, there might be more back and forth between here and the blasted Tower, so we won’t have to wait three more years before the next letter. We should be able to establish semi-regular communication - with some hope, if the peace treaty goes from rumor to reality, I might even come back to Prass under the next two years.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I have to go now, take care of yourself as much as you can, I promise to stay alive long enough for us to see each other again. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>PS: I thought you should know, I’ve seen your sister. She’s awesome and doing well. We fought a dragon together, it was epic. You can write something for her, I’ll transmit the message.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know, this is extremely short, but it is just a prologue. I already have the first chapter ready, but I want to have some more ready in advance before publishing it, so that I can stay regular even if I loose inspiration at one point. So have some crappy art I made in the meantime xD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1: Threats from the Tower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Year 51 of the Syrian Calendar - Summer</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heeeey. I wrote so much I forgot to eat today. But, new chapter, yeah xD (I’m eating now.)</p><p>I’m feeling a tiny bit down about my English writing, because I worked on some my French works those past few days, and damn. It won’t surprise anybody, but it’s crazy how much easier it is to write in your native language. I feel like a five years old that stole their parents computer when I’m writing in English, it just doesn’t flow smoothly, my vocabulary is limited, and weirdly enough, my creativity too. </p><p>I guess I just have to practice. Write and write and write until my level in English is close enough to what I’m used to in French.</p><p>Thank you Ria for beta reading this :) enjoy the first actual chapter of this mage AU, I hope you’ll like it more than I do xD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 1: Threat from the Tower</span>
</h1><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - 16th of July</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Like the music, the stairs never stopped. Round and round they went, spiraling from the bottom to the top of the Tower. Notes carved into the walls, stone beaten by constant passages; it felt as much a home as a prison to the souls locked up inside, tall apertures allowing them to contemplate through their glass a world they couldn't return to. The melomage climbing the steps would usually stop in front of the windows whenever he wanted to rest his fingers. But at this instant, a moving dot of blue against the white of the stairs, he was moving allegro, verging on presto, not resting until he was safe inside his quarters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closed his hand tighter around the letter hidden in his sleeve, biting his lower lip. His heart was beating so loudly he could almost believe it was making his entire frame shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he wasn’t so exhausted and couldn’t feel the amused glances of Hilary Hahn on his back - the one and only High Mage Hahn - he would jump around in joy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he had found a way. Brett would always find a way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had promised, after all, three years ago whispering in the dark - sitting under one of the tables in a corner of the kitchen - when they learned Brett would be deployed. One way or another they would manage to break the rules like they had done since they were brought together inside those white walls for the first time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his childhood friend had stopped at nothing short of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hilary Hahn</span>
  </em>
  <span> to honor this promise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fucking finally,” he muttered under his breath when he reached his door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sweat was making his glasses slide on the bridge of his nose and his coat stick to his skin, the shimmer catching the lights. He got rid of it as soon as he passed the threshold, leaving him clad in colors almost blending in with the walls; white shirt and pastel pants. Without missing a beat he opened his case, grabbed his violin, and started going through the Adagio of Bach’s first Sonata.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was one of the first actual spells he had learned - way before he was supposed to - and he had threaded it so many times by now it was second nature. The blue threads appeared into existence, crossed over each other but he didn’t need to look. Didn’t need to focus on the balance of thin and strong, didn’t need to pay attention to the pattern they were making around him. The Adagio was perfect for this, slow but short enough, a good mix of technique and interpretation to make the threads dance by themselves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He always closed his eyes when he was playing for himself, letting it be music before magic, refusing to see the air glitter and thicken to lose himself in the melody - so often forsaken. When notes could be threaded into spells able to split mountains, who needed the music?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no need to answer his rhetorical question, the ache in his chest speaking for itself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last note reverberated into his quarters, now only available for his ears and he opened his eyes, the threads encapsulating him shimmered one last time before fading, leaving behind them an impenetrable room as the result of the discretion spell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride swelled in his chest at the way the symbols on his door glowed, the spell still as strong despite being five years old. He could see his teenage self sitting there, tongue peeking out in focus, surrounded by papers and music sheets, carefully carving the notes into the wood, making sure they weren’t noticeable in case of an inspection by one of the masters. In the middle of this prison, he had made of the room his fortress, the carving on the door making sure nothing but himself could break the discretion spell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now that he was sure none of the higher-ups - </span>
  <em>
    <span>those fuckers</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Brett would have said - could spy on him with detection spells, he let himself fall back on his bed with a dying groan, violin slipping from his sore fingers into its case, and ripped the letter open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckled immediately, of course, his best friend hadn’t used any banalities, no “Dear Eddy” or even “Hi, how are you? I hope this letter finds you well” no, just jumping straight into the matter, even after three years of separation. It was so him, this letter, from the bluntness and the messy ink blots up to the last badly scribbled characters of his promise that he felt his throat clog up. His knuckles hurt as his teeth sank into them, trying to repress a sob, letter pressed close to his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t cry. C’mon, don’t cry Eddy, you’re supposed to be happy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><span>And he was. Like he hadn’t been in years. And it reminded him how much he missed</span> <span>his best friend.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was the only reason he was still here. Still playing day and night for a country that had never made him feel like he belonged, still threading old and new spells with dark circles under his eyes, still spending hours on end experimenting, making new notes dance over a bracelet or an earring, hoping this artifact would be the one protecting his friends or sister’s life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were others like him, some of the three hundred melomages locked in here, who sang until their throat parched up, played until their arms fell off because they had something dear to protect. They maintained the shield around the capital for them, they researched new ways to make artifacts for them, they stopped sleeping for them, not for the abstract concept of patriotism the Tower tried to feed them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However much he loved the friends he made here, Eddy knew with surprising clarity that the day he managed to put his hands on Brett and his sister again, they would flee without a single look behind. Maybe Ray, Alex, or Toni would come with him, get away from those white stones they had seen from the inside for far too long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They would find a way. They always had. It had taken years, but his best friend had succeeded in sending him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>letter</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all the way from the border to the capital, how amazing was he really? Warmth spread in his chest and the knot in his throat loosened. Everything was possible, as long as it was Brett doing it. He folded the letter with careful gestures and tucked it in his violin case with a smile. It wasn’t the safest idea, but the joy of knowing the letter was so close to him, his instrument, and all his charms outweighed the risk of being discovered. He was smart anyway, he would find a way to thread a spell into it to make it seem gibberish for foreign eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cheered up by his thoughts, he sprang from his bed and grabbed some old sheet music he had used for composition research and wrote his answer on the back of it, standing in front of the desk, suddenly too energized to sit. There was no hesitation in the movement of his hand; speaking with Brett, face to face or through pen and paper, was as natural as playing at this point in their life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pen left the ink to dry on a last wish and he took a hesitant breath. His gaze traveled over the clutter on his desk, going over the music sheet strewn around, the research about the influence of dynamics on spell strength, scraped bits of leather, half-carved stones, the small mountain of books he should probably carry back to the library, and finally the wooden box on the left corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Should he…? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure he was finished with it, but he didn’t know if he ever would have the opportunity to send it to him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A bang on his door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy? Eddy, I have no idea if you're there or not because of your stupid spell but if by any chance you can hear me, it’s your turn to go maintain the shield, Master Omon even started a detection spell to scan the Tower in the hopes of finding you. Oh, and Hilary Hahn is leaving, I saw you talking to her earlier, so maybe you want to say goodbye. If you’re not there and can’t hear me, then I’ve just been talking to myself for a whole minute, but that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made a split-second decision and fished the two wristbands from the box. Clasped one around his wrist, scribbled one last thing on the paper, and slipped his coat on. He threw both the letter and second wristband in his violin case before grabbing it and opening the door, breaking his discretion spell. On the other side, a melomage with dyed blond hair was leaning against the wall. He was thinner and smaller than Eddy, his dark eyebrows rising when he saw the new sparkle in his friend’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m here, I’m here, thanks for the warning. Master Omon would have killed me if I had forgotten shield duty once again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. You look happy. I didn’t think I would see you smile like that after your husband left.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One would think, after more than ten years of making the same joke, the people around him would tire of it. But they had the friends they deserved, he guessed, and there was a high probability Brett was still hearing about it, even all the way to the eastern border.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re hilarious, Alex, I don’t know why you didn’t go into comedy instead,” he quipped back with a smile and started going down the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I tried, they didn’t let me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy snorted, but let the conversation die there, something nagging at the back of his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If there were talks of a peace treaty with Glanne and Bellani, why did nobody mention it? He knew his childhood friend didn’t lie and the letter made it sound as if it was common knowledge at the eastern border. Those two countries were Surie’s most pressing menace, if there was a chance for peace with them, it should be on everyone’s lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Either the masters had deemed the melomages of the Tower unbefitting of this information or they weren’t aware of it themselves. He should probably find a way to ask subtly about it, maybe to Master Deauclaire, she had always been nice to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sigh wanted to escape his mouth, but he decided to keep his breath for the rest of those hellish stairs - someone really ought to build an elevator here, Brett had complained about it since day one. But civilians weren’t allowed inside the Tower, so the chances of that happening were slim, and all the melomages were too exhausted by the war and swamped with work to lose time researching a way to build it using their magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least he had nice legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“High Mage Hahn! Please, wait!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The massive guard - servant? Protector? He had never really understood their relationship -  usually following her around was nowhere to be seen. She was alone leaning against a pillar of the main hall, violin case at her feet, next to the door. This colossal, stone, and metal door that needed three levers to be opened, carved with so many notes it was impossible to read the melody anymore and infused with music. He had only crossed it once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hilary</span>
  </em>
  <span> is just fine. Don’t worry, I wasn’t leaving just yet, in case you had something for me before I go back to the border,” she added with a twinkle in her eyes.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hair was pushed back from her face, the upturn of her nose, the elegance of her highbrows, and the iridescence of her green and silver outfit made her look like a forest spirit, concealing the power she held at the tip of her fingers. She smiled at him so genuinely Eddy wondered how she was real.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>High Mages seemed out of this world; the few among melomages that had mastered both attack and defense magic. They could thread better shields than he ever would and blow up enemy tanks by the dozen, with a clear sound and a musicality that made him shudder. Brett and himself had grown up idolizing High Mages like Hahn and Vengerov, awed by tales of their exploits on the battlefield and nursing the memories of the few performances they had been able to see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now Hilary Hahn was barely a few meters away, speaking and smiling at him, as if she was nothing special, as if somehow he was her equal, and it baffled him. It was beyond his expectations that someone so talented could be so nice and down to earth - and brave. Brave enough that she would risk breaking the Tower's most important rule just so two stupid childhood friends could keep talking to each other. He had no idea how Brett even managed to convince her to be their homing pigeon but he was forever grateful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s-” he looked around, and even if there was nobody in the immediate vicinity, he would not risk Hilary Hahn being discovered helping them. Master Omon would definitely kill him with how late he was going to be, but Brett Yang and Hilary Hahn’s safety was definitely worth a few nights spent doing chores. “Do you have a few minutes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she nodded, he got his violin out, closed his eyes, and hesitated. He felt a bit shy playing his Bach Adagio in front of the melomage when her performance was the most beautiful of this piece he had ever heard. His heart beating in his throat, he lowered his right arm on the strings. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>And instantly got shaky bow. For an audience of one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cringed and refused to open his eyes, hearing his notes get more and more out of tune, but he fought his way to the end of the piece - </span>
  <em>
    <span>magic doesn’t care about intonation, Eddy, it will do its job if you put enough of yourself into it, however horrendously you play</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he tried to comfort himself, and for once focused on the power going through him rather than the music he was trying to make. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that was… Something…” Hilary Hahn commented with a giggle when he lowered his violin and the leftover magic shimmered away from them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blush on his face was so strong he could hear his blood pulsing in his ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I swear I usually play better than this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she chuckled. “I have already heard you play with your friend. On another note, this is a brilliantly executed discretion spell. You are very good at it, I don’t think I would have made it much better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lots of practice,” he mumbled, fiddling with the earrings on his right lobe - even coming from one of the greatest living melomage and violinist, the compliment barely made him feel better about this disastrous performance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fell silent for a few seconds too long. Now that they couldn’t be overheard or seen, he had no idea how to breach the subject. Should he just thrust his letter in her hands? Make small talk before? Thank her with effusion?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I have an autograph?” his stupid brain supplied him with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The peal of laughter that came out of her mouth made him feel stupid and charmed at the same time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you two really are the same,” she murmured with mirth. “Yes, of course, you can have it, but surely you have more pressing matters at hand.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah- ah, yes. I do. I have something for you. I mean- for him…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand was held out expectantly, and he hurried to his open case, putting down his violin and taking out the letter and wristband.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to thank you for the risks you are taking. This means so much to us, you have no idea. I swear if there was another way of doing this without involving you… But apart from the Minister of Defence, you high mages are the only ones traveling between the border and the Tower, and since no communication can go through these walls-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. But you should go now, they will start wondering where you disappeared to. Give me your violin case, I will sign it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, no it’s okay, don’t worry-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>want my autograph?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do! I do, I very much do. I just-” he squinted at her, the curl to her lips she was trying to control. “You are messing with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am!” she answered joyfully. “I thought it would make you relax. You don’t need to be so uptight talking to me, I’m just a human being.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He very much begged to differ.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he didn’t get yelled at by the conductor, he blinked in confusion, taking his spot in his orchestra seat at least half an hour later than he was supposed to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“High Mage Hahn sent her guard to tell Master Omon she needed to talk to you,” Ray whispered in his ear when he saw how perplexed he looked at getting out of it unscathed. “He didn’t look like he quite believed him, but couldn’t go publicly against a high mage’s reque- Wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is that her autograph on your case?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You missed a good third of the symphony just to be a fanboy? I can’t beli-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some quiet in the first violins section would be appreciated,” Master Omon snapped from his stand. “The shield won’t maintain itself if you’re not playing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now was not the time to bring any ire or attention to him. So he wiggled his eyebrow with probably too much smugness at his gobstruck deskmate but rolled up his sleeves and obediently went on with Malher 5 along with the rest of the orchestra. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The threads from his music, sky blue and thin, shivered into existence, mingling with all the others, a kaleidoscope of colors interweaving with one another, pulsing and shimmering with magic, absorbed before they could linger in the air by the carved walls. He could feel it, the Tower pulsing wave after wave of their combined magic, enhanced and magnified until every last house of the capital was under their protection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eyes, he saw a woman standing in a corner surveilling them, her uniform marking her as a member of the government. Ray spotted her too and rolled his eyes before exchanging a glance with Eddy above his violins and they snorted like teenagers. This was always ridiculous when non-melomages watched them and tried to pretend to understand what was going on - they couldn’t even see their threads for fuck’s sake. At least they got a free concerto out of it, but the boredom on the higher up’s face told everything there was to know about her enjoyment of the piece.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted to click his tongue; Surians were too used to their flashy magic to appreciate the intricacies that came with melomages’ music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything hurt. Night shield duties were the worst. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was the obvious physical pain of staying seated for hours on end, playing without rest. His fingers, his wrist, his arms, his shoulders, his back, even his legs ached and his head throbbed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then, there was the mental toll the magic was taking, exhausting them on a deeper level, letting every melomage raw and paper-thin in its wake like they would shatter if the wind howled too strongly. There weren’t enough of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy sagged against the window, leg propped up on the sill. The glass was cool on his forehead and he knew he probably should go see the healer, but even that felt too tiring at the moment. He would allow himself a moment of self-pity, staring at the sun rising over the roof of Prass, brushing colors on the sky as he sunk further and further into his thoughts - Brett would have shaken him out of his weird mood if he had been there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t and everybody else knew better than to bother him when he got like this, silent and contemplative, looking over the capital awakening with dawn. Jealous of its inhabitants free of roaming the streets, of buying their bread, of practicing their magic however they wanted to. They ignored everything about them, about the melomages stuck in the Tower in the middle of their city. Nobody cared, nobody raised their eyes toward the giant stone edifice, not wondering why Prass was left miraculously unscathed by the war when the only scare they had was that attack from a dragon five years ago, not realizing the music never stopped, every hour of the day, to keep the shield in place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They didn’t even know his kind existed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the first rule of the Tower. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No communication with the outside</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It loomed over the center of Prass, the biggest city in all of the Surian Empire, where the imperial family itself resided, but the melomages in it lived so cut off from the world, they might as well have been in the frozen desert of the northern steppes in Ranga. The magic carved in the walls of the Tower was cutting off any telepathy, any communication, any sound. No television, radio or anything civilian was allowed in here, digging deeper the gap between melomages and the rest of the Empire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt like they were another species sometimes and part of him was eaten away by bitterness. Why was he supposed to be there day and night, looking over the world from a stone prison he couldn’t get out of, playing and playing and playing again? When the people he was playing for were so far away from him, hadn’t ever heard a single note of his music, couldn’t feel the pulse of the shield keeping them from harm. Sometimes he even forgot who their enemies were. Was it the alliance between Glanne and Bellani in the east? The Rangan Empire who was amassing troops west of them? The Principality of Spangel nipping at their south border? Or even the pirate raids from the northern islands? He couldn’t even keep track of which country they were officially at war against. He wasn’t a knight, he didn’t take an oath, he never even chose to be here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet. He would keep on doing it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dawn had passed, it was morning now. Like ants, the black dots of Prassians going on about their day started flooding the streets, conscious that there was a war going on outside of their walls but far from it enough it didn’t disturb their routine because people like Hilary Hahn, his best friend, and his sister were fighting it for them at the borders, and people like Eddy, Alex and Master Omon healed, planned and searched to support them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His gaze took a forlorn glint and traveled east, over those people he didn’t care about.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, Eddy. That’s enough self-pity for the day. I let you have your fill, now it’s time to heal, eat, and sleep. To joke around with your friends and to enjoy being alive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could almost feel the phantom pat against his shoulder, could hear the inflection Brett’s voice would have taken, it made him smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He inhaled, closed his eyes, felt the air travel down to his lungs, the time of four heartbeats, and let it out, along with the bitterness and the loneliness. It was time to live.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was warmth spreading in his chest as he made his way to the healer. His best friend was alive, his sister was alive and Hilary Hahn was on her way toward the eastern border, carrying with her his first words to them in years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From the other side of the corridor, he spied on Master Swabendich coming his way and tried to stop himself from smiling, to add a drag to his steps. It wouldn’t do to look too energized in front of him or he might get roped up in some last-minute work. The master had somehow managed to become even grumpier than before since he had been appointed lead researcher. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...</span>
  </em>
  <span>exploding charms, we should have given her more</span>
  <em>
    <span>…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he grumbled as he passed by Eddy, to his utter relief paying him no mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memory of that evening surged in his mind when a few days ago he had been dragged out of bed by the researchers, along with most of the melomages not on shield duty, to be tasked with crafting hundreds of exploding artifacts because the troops deployed at the eastern border had encountered a problem.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hadn’t Brett said the problem was ghouls? Explosions would do nothing against ghouls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All noise died as he went down into the bowels of the Tower, under the ground where most of the laboratories extended.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even stop when he passed the magical barrier at the entrance of the basement. Its purpose was to alert the lead researchers whenever someone unauthorized tried to go through it, but his threads just came out of their invisibility and shimmered once, absorbing the alert. Making sure he stayed concealed. He and Brett had gone through so many barriers using this, the only one he hadn’t managed to cross was the one keeping him inside the Tower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t supposed to be there but knew he couldn’t rest until he had checked. It had trotted at the back of his mind since Brett’s letter, a disturbance nagging the flow of his thoughts. He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on it too much in the beginning, but there was too much that didn’t make sense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghouls were infesting the battlefields, but instead of making the defense melomage craft artifacts to stop the resentment and bad energy from burning the corpses, the masters had sent Hilary Hahn back to the eastern border with crates filled with hundreds of exploding gems - eastern border where news of a peace treaty was spreading between the soldiers, but somehow hadn’t reached the ears of anybody in the Tower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was it because they were being permanently lied to that the attack melomages at the border and those at the Tower weren’t allowed to communicate? The gap between what Brett had told him in his letter and what they heard here was worrisome.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when Eddy started worrying, he wouldn’t stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, instead of going to sleep or taking a shower, as he should have after staying awake for more than thirty-six hours, he had threaded his discretion spell - the third one in less than ten hours, no wonder he was so good at it - and had decided to go down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still nervous, jitters running down his body and making his breath shallow. Just because he was invisible didn’t mean his little trip would go completely unnoticed. A scanning spell to check up on their status could be done at any time and him being completely off the radar for several hours might be suspicious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Relief surged and a smug smile flittered on his lips as he opened the door of the main lab without incidents - he was average in many aspects, but he knew few discretion spells could rival his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, all he had to do was to look for something that didn’t make sense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he found out, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of things didn’t make sense when reading through researchers’ notes. And that was when he was able to decipher their scribbling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy had thought about giving up maybe four times already; he was bone-deep tired, his friends might start to wonder where he had disappeared to again and already two researchers had entered the laboratory while he was snooping. His heart had jumped in his throat both times, but once again, his spell had not failed him, and they had gone back without a single glance in his direction. Nonetheless, the more time he spent down there, the more the risks of being caught increased.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But paranoia wouldn’t let go of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something was wrong, it was as much a gut feeling as a result of logical thinking, and when both his instinct and his reason agreed, he knew better than to ignore them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, Eddy hated being right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t make complete sense of what he had under his eyes but even foregoing the strange plans depicting a spell he had never heard about, if the carvings on this exploding artifact he had in his hand were anything to go by, something very wrong was about to happen at the eastern border.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dread pooled low in his stomach; he had to tell Brett and his sister to get the hell out of there while there was still time but his letter had already left with Hilary Hahn hours ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there was no mention of the real threat in it. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Musicographie</p><p>Bach Sonata No.1. I. Adagio<br/>Mahler Symphony No.5</p><p> </p><p>Et voilà! :)</p><p>Most of the chapters are around this length, I’m pretty regular, chapter-length wise.</p><p>Do pay attention to the dates, I’ll play around with the chronology.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dear Brett (I always believed in you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The letter that left too early to say what he really wanted to say.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to everybody who gave me a kind comments of the previous chapter, it really made me feel better about this :) and some of you are writers whose works are amongst my favorite in this fandom, so it meant a lot.</p><p>I know the chapter length doesn’t speak of someone who wrote for hours, but I promise it’s there for a reason, and the next <em>actual</em> chapter is around the same size as the previous one. Also, for those who asked how I’m going to resolve this in 15 chapters... Well I won’t xD I revised my chapters plan, and I definitely can’t finish in 15 chapters, so it might be a bit longer, but I don’t know yet how many, so I arbitrarily put the number at 17.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Dear Brett (I’ve never stopped believing in you): </span>
</h1><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>16th of July, 51</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I can’t believe you did it! You actually managed to send me a letter! I mean, figure of speech, I’ve never stopped believing in you since you promised all those years ago; you always beat the odds, but still, they really were not in our favor this time. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>And how the fuck did you even manage to convince </span>
    </em>
    <span>them</span>
    <em>
      <span> to be our homing pigeon?? I would have bet on you being unable to open your mouth without stuttering non-stop when faced to them. Crazy. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Things at the Tower haven’t changed much since you left, except that I’m single again and I need glasses now, apparently I spent too many hours hunched over texts full of small characters, or carving tiny artefacts with bad lighting. And Olaf invented a new cool thing to make violin playing more comfortable, he calls it a shoulder rest, so it’s hurting a bit less when I play six hours in a row, but I’m still dead tired pretty much all the time. Our friends are doing okay - that means they’re the same jackasses - and the higher-ups from the Ministry of Defense have been visiting quite a lot lately, so we’re under more pressure than usual. I’m getting myself into way less trouble since you’re not here anymore though, Master Omon is almost nice to me now.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>If the peace treaty does happen it would be the best thing ever! We haven’t been told about it yet, so maybe they’re being careful because it’s far from being a sure thing. But then again, the higher-ups and the masters don’t really like to share information with us. As long as we play, that’s enough for them.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I’m starting to get tired of it too; I think I’m probably doing fingering in my sleep by now. The music loses its sense sometimes, there’s no melody to the notes and it scares me a bit. To be honest, I can feel myself die a little more on the inside each day. It’s hard to keep being cheerful when I’m being forced to play and I used to love music above everything but it’s becoming a chore. When I know you’re out there fighting, and I can see through the windows the Prassians going on about their day not even knowing you exist. I miss the outside, I miss my Mom, I miss my sister and I miss you. Your letter came just in time to give me back some will to live - no I’m not being dramatic, no need to roll your eyes. I can’t wait to see your stupid ass again, I’ll try to play the Sibelius violin concerto for you when you come back. I promise I will take care of myself in the meantime. Stay alive.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>P.S: For my sister: how is being a pianist and an attack melomage even a thing? Like, do you go around the battlefield rolling a whole grand piano behind you? How does that work? And I found some of your compositions, they’re really good. I'm proud of you, stay alive too. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <h1>
<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>
</h1>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>P.P.S: Wristband is for you, man. Wear it, I made it.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The “dear Brett“ at the beginning isn’t part of the actual letter, it’s just the chapter title, they don’t actually mention each other’s name in those in case they are intercepted. </p><p>Thanks again for reading, wait for the next chapter to see things actually happen. Let’s say I’m building the anticipation with this (because I want to be kind with myself).</p><p>I think Fantasy is not really what people look for when they come to read TwoSet fanfics, so I’m grateful for every hit :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 2: The valley of the war</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The valley of the war.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! Another chapter! I just finished writing another one, because I like to have some ready in advance, but it was emotionally heavy, so I’m almost having trouble reconnecting with this one that I wrote a few weeks ago. I can’t wait to share everything I’ve written :)</p><p>Introducing some secondary characters with this one, I hope you’ll like Brett’s perspective (it’s easier for me to write from this point of view, as shown by Best Friends at the very Best)</p><p>Thank you to everybody who left a comment and a kudo on this :) always makes me extra happy.</p><p>Thanks again Ria for the beta reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 2: The valley of the war</span>
</h1><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 48 of the New Surian Calendar - 3rd of September</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The steady rumble of the magic propelling the cart vibrated in tandem with him. As the Tower was getting smaller, all else seemed to get bigger. People in the streets chanting for the army crossing their capital, the scent of freshly baked goods, houses he had mainly seen from above, red leaves dancing in the wind. Colors and noise filled every corner, bursting with so much life that it seemed over-saturated, hurting his retinas used to the mellow white of his prison, exploding in his ears that had heard nothing but music for the past eight years. There were people everywhere in the streets, all so different, and it almost gave him whiplash to see other faces than the same three hundred he had been locked up with for almost a decade. It tasted like sweet freedom on the tip of his tongue, and bitterness at the back, when his gaze drifted over the cart he was sitting in, remembering he was on his way to fight. Sophie and Dave were the only other melomages sent to the eastern border with him - all three of them had hit eighteen years old the same year. The knights were looking at the musicians with so much suspicion, those tall and bulky warriors, it was almost funny - </span>
  <em>
    <span>How the hell are such scrawny guys and their piece of musical wood supposed to help us win battles? - </span>
  </em>
  <span>if only they knew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if the gifts possessed by the inhabitants of Surie covered all kinds of abilities; from pushing carts with their minds to melting metal with their hands - and the odd ones out like making people under your roof thirsty - no Surian had the same powers as melomages; magic threading together in spells powerful enough to fight back dragons and protect an entire city. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett tried to hold back a smirk and fiddled with the jewel on his right ear, forcing himself not to look back. To hold onto the positive feelings of finally being out, of moving forward - of not having to climb those stairs from hell anymore - rather than focus on the knowledge that his best friend was watching their departure from the third window of the thirteenth floor, his eyes probably following their journey until they were far enough east he couldn't see anymore. Brett had to be strong for the both of them. He had to keep his head clear and find a way. He had promised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 48 of the New Surian Calendar - 14th of September</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Their country was a mess. He knew this, everybody knew this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had been at war barely a few decades after the Surian Empire had been unified. At war with</span>
  <em>
    <span> the entire continent</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Surie had enemies at literally every cardinal point, and if people had lived under the dirt and above the clouds, they would have been their enemies too. There were reasons for that, a history to their country; every war could be predicted when looked at from the future but the classes had been boring and he hadn’t bothered to listen. Eddy would probably know, that nerd. But Brett still hadn’t figured out how to communicate with him, so history lessons would have to wait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their squad was reaching Ihedge, the last village still in Surian territory, and only the mountains delimiting the border between the Surian Empire and the Republic of Glanne stood before their eyes, the valley winding in between the only path for the enemy’s footmen and tanks. This was where the fighting had been at a stalemate for the past years, and where Brett would stay until they won, until they lost. It didn’t matter to him, the end result of the war; all he had to do was honor his latest promise then stay alive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Sergeant barked an order and the knights stopped the carts, setting up the camp before reaching the village - they never stopped at cities, only passing through them with military efficiency, no contacts with the civilians. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are we sleeping in the cart again?“ Sophie sighed, getting a shrug from Dave as her only answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The knights never bothered to speak to them or help them with their tents, and none of the three melomage had any experience in setting up a camp, most of their nights had been spent huddled together at the back of their transportation. But Brett eyed the tent materials and decided he refused to get beaten by a bunch of fabric and metal rods ten times in a row.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dave applauded his determination and Sophie thanked him, but they stayed useless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By now, he was mostly trying to get the tent to at least stand up, never minding the more complicated intricacies of it actually providing shelter. His gaze traveled over the Paals, the chains of mountains looming in the background. Some of his other friends sent to the front before him should be there and he was almost impatient to see Hyung again, his favorite cellist. He hoped they were still alive. Hoped war wasn’t as terrible as it seemed from afar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the night falling, Ihedge started lighting up, the buzz of life audible from their camp. Maybe we would sneak off again tonight. He had never been a stickler for rules and being able to mingle with civilians was a rare treat he probably wouldn’t get to enjoy anymore, as soon as they reached the foot of the Paals. That was how he had discovered even Surie’s population were the Empire’s enemies, they only played for themselves, still more independent lands than regions of an empire. Openly manifesting discontent with the way the country was ruled, with the way other regions fared; grumbled threats of civil wars in the streets only held back because the ennemis at their door were a more immediate menace than their own government and neighbors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had hit him then, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>unified </span>
  </em>
  <span>meant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It meant all those lands forcefully integrated into a single country were the same as them, melomages. It meant one day, somebody came into their houses and robbed them from their freedom and their identities, made them go from independent states to regions of a whole before involving them into a war they didn’t want to be part of. They had been told - </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re part of something greater now - </span>
  </em>
  <span>but like the rebellious kids they had been, most of the lords of those lands didn’t believe their new masters, and instead kept on having their own agenda, hidden from the view of the capital. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would never have guessed,“ he mumbled to himself, “that each lord hates the next one about as much as they hate the Empire.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s crazy isn’t it. But if you want my opinion-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett blinked - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who the f-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-It was kinda expected. I mean, I guess I understand where Emperor Audric I was coming from when he tried to unify Surie. It's clear we are much more powerful now, but we’ve not even been a country for fifty years. Plus most of those states have been enemies for centuries, sometimes millenaries, they’re not gonna forget a history of conflicts just because some guy told them they had to be friends now,“ the boy that had interrupted him didn’t stop even when Brett looked at him as if he had grown a second head, and said head was especially ugly. He casually gathered the materials in Brett’s hands and started building the tent for him while keeping up the steady chattering. “I mean, technically, that guy </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> their Emperor, but he couldn’t very well look over them, hidden in his palace in Prass, so of course they didn’t give a shit about his authority, especially this far down the border. But with the war and everything now, at least they calmed down a bit, they are too busy worrying about dragons burning down their homes to fight with each other-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 48 of the New Surian calendar - 2nd of December</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His name was Oliver Ledbetter, he came from one of the noble families that owned lands near Prass. he was tall, thin, and white with a mop a blond hair which he kept pushing back from his forehead when he was getting excited - so pretty much all the time - and he was a tad too young to be a knight in Brett’s humble opinion - but really, attack melomages were sent to battle for the first time at barely eighteen, so he couldn’t judge. Ever since that evening in Ihedge when he had helped the melomages with their tente, he hadn’t let go of Brett, following him everywhere and alternating between harassing him with questions and just talking non stop. His gift was to push away people who touched him with a blast of air, but he was so chatty and clingy it had made Brett crack up when he learned about it a couple of months after their first meeting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude, I would never have guessed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wind was biting at his nose and he snuggled deeper into his heavy coat, pushing up his scarf over the lower half of his face now that he was done eating. He shivered once, and was suddenly overcome with a familiar wave of warmth, going all the way from his face to the tip of his toes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What- </span>
  </em>
  <span>He raised his hand to touch his earring. Sure enough, it was burning up, radiating magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett bit his lip and smiled maybe a little too widely behind the cover of his scarf - his best friend was a freaking mother-hen - Hyung raised an eyebrow at him and rolled his eyes when he spotted the earring glowing but if Oliver noticed, he didn’t say anything about it, just kept nerding out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> gifts have nothing to do with our personality,” he shrugged, pushing another fork of what Brett supposed to be mashed potatoes into his mouth, before vibrating from excitement, a hand going through his hair. “But yours! Melomages are so different, the type of person you are has a direct influence on the kind of magic you deploy, I so wish I could see your threads, it’s fascinating! I mean, I’m not sure about this hypothesis, there’s like ten of you here, but it seems highly plausible from what I’ve seen. I can’t believe I’ve never read about your kind before, it’s crazy no book or history channel mentions you, like, ever. Oh! Do you think the Tower was built by your people?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a different species, Oliver,“ he retorted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy was a full blown nerd, he mostly couldn’t shut up about History but was interested in anything that caught his fancy and right now, that would be melomages. He was way too enthusiastic about them since he had learned about their existence, and kept pestering him with questions about the Tower, how their magic worked, asking for a demonstration ever since they had settled at the border with the rest of the army. Brett was usually a talker, but he never had the time to string more than two words together whenever Oliver was around, drowning under the constant chatter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should have told him to get lost eons ago, but apparently Brett was weak for needy brats following him around - he blamed Eddy really.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 49 of the New Surian calendar - Spring</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never been able to thread the way his childhood friend did, with infinite minutiae and precision. That was why he was here, and Eddy was still in the wretched Tower. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just played without thinking. Furiously. And the red threads of his magic wildly danced around, whipped out everything in their vicinity and set enemies on fire. He was never in the middle of the fighting, no, melomages were too precious for that, the army couldn’t risk a stray bullet or a sword swung at the wrong place to end the life of their secret weapons. So here they were, four of them on top of a rock formation, overseeing the battlefield, safely protected behind artifacts over artifacts provided by the Tower. Their enemies couldn’t even see them, concealed as they were under the spells - they were the unknown secret force of the Surian Empire. Their magic was weaker, that far from the Tower, but it didn’t matter, for this, it was enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The melody of the 8th string quartet from Shostakovich was getting more and more agitated, the melomages moving their bodies with each new press against the strings - the scream of the knights and the explosions of the tanks as a backing track.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophie had switched from her usual piano to play second violin, her sound a silvery grey, Hyung’s low notes on the cello threaded yellow, shaking the earth with each vibration, and Dave’s viola- well, it filled its purpose as much as it could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some would say there was a time and place for viola jokes, Brett’s brain apparently didn’t agree - he almost wanted to laugh hysterically, here he was, killing people for the first time, the battle raging beneath them, and the only thing he managed to think about was a freaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>viola joke</span>
  </em>
  <span>? - Eddy would never let him live it down. Some tears gathered at the corner of his eyes and he hated himself a little bit, lowering his bow harder than necessary. An outburst of red blasted open a Glannish soldier. The threads gorged themselves on blood before vanishing in the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The music was beautiful in its rage, and the war was ugly.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 49 of the New Surian calendar - Autumn</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Time had flown so fast, the only signs it had been a year already since he had left for the border were the additions to the number of people he had grown to care for and how tired he felt of fighting. There were the melomages he played daily with, of course, but those he knew already from their decade together at the Tower. But the knights, the cooks, the technicians, all of them were strangers when he left the capital twelve months ago, and now they were not. Now there were people like Oliver, like Engelberta, who laughed too easily to not include melomages in her jokes, like Melany - that cook who had figured out Brett especially liked her desert and always winked at him when she gave him double portions - like General Kernold, whom Brett had had a distaste for in the beginning just because he represented an authority he despised, and then had learned to respect because he was fair and cared for his men. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still hadn’t found a way to break the first rule of the Tower. But he hadn’t forgotten. Everytime his gaze turned west, he would touch his earring and feel his determination strengthen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was silly - he knew it was, would never admit to doing it aloud - but whenever they had a new artifacts or charms shipment, he would always try to recognize Eddy’s carving among the dozens delivered. He would sit late into the night, leaning his back against the wooden boxes, fingers going over the indents of the gems, retracing the notes and trying to imagine which one had been made under the hands of his childhood friend. He would even take out his earring sometimes - heart beating a little bit faster - when he thought he had gotten one to compare it to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had thought he was discreet, that nobody had noticed. But when artefacts from a freshly arrived crate were officially distributed on a morning after such a night and Brett fought everyone to get his hands on the one he coveted, Sophie had calmed an angry knight he had shoved to the side in his precipitation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, let him, he just wants the one his husband made.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not my freaking-” he stopped and rolled his eyes. “Seriously, have you guys never had a best friend? How can this joke still be alive?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s only fun because you react so strongly to it,” Elise chuckled softly from beside Hyung where she was cleaning her tuba. “You should be like Eddy and just roll with it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He can roll with it because he already has a girlfriend, so of course he doesn’t care about what people think. But what if the love of my life believes I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> dating stupid ass Eddy because you think you’re funny and I miss my chance with them because of that, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that, one of the knights guffawed and slapped him on the shoulder - almost sending him toppling over the open boxes of artefacts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And where did ya think you’d meet that love of your life back then? Stuck like a damsel in your tower! Maybe you’ll have better chances here, I know some knights think you melomages with your small arms and music makers are hot, I could pass the word around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t, you’ll make his husband jealous!” yelled Dave from his tent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three or four people laughed and despite being the butt of the joke, Brett couldn’t help but chuckle with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something had changed after that. It was subtle but Oliver stopped being the only knight to eat with the melomages and in addition to General Kernold, other people started greeting them in the morning when they crossed the camp. Engelberta even tried out Elise’s tuba during a night involving smuggled bottles of whiskey from Ihedge; knights and melomages high from a battle ending on a resounding victory earlier in the day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One knight’s gift was to make shapes dance into the fire; between Engelberta’s attempt at music and the improvised flame theater, laughter was flowing freely. Oliver sat next to Brett who was so used to the knight latching on to him he barely reacted when the other started talking his ear off, just nodded at the appropriate times.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were actually a bit intimidated by your lot, y’know,” Oliver ended up confessing without warning, in the middle of some rant about Glanne’s industrial revolution. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really? They made good time of repeatedly pointing out how unimpressive we were, with our scrawny arms and lack of fighting skills, though,” Brett raised his eyebrows and turned his eyes away from the orange and red lights shaping a crude story to rest them on the boy’s face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had some zits on his chin, and started to be in dire need of a haircut - the image of a prepubescent Eddy complaining about his bad skin and greasy hair superposed itself to this reality. He touched his earring, blinked, and it faded away, leaving only nostalgia in its wake. A breath of air shook the flames and got a shiver out of him. It was always windy here, no matter the season.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, they’re not wrong,” Oliver babbled. “Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> am more physically impressive than you, and that’s saying something. It’s your magic, not your body that is foreign and impressive. They used to scorn me for spending so much time with you, y’know? Even if it was more out of fear than any real hatred. But, you have to understand though, from an outsider’s perspective, your magic is scary, we’ve never even heard something like what you do is possible, so the knights were just a bit wary. Like, just having about ten of you here can completely reverse the current of a battle and you don’t even have to touch the enemies. You kinda didn’t seem human,” he finally took a breath, just when Brett started worrying he would pass out from talking. “But after this little scene the other day; you and the other melomages joking about loved ones, and best friends, and not finding a lover… I think it made them realize you’re just people, despite being freaking powerful. I mean, that’s my theory at least, what do you think about it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you are spending way too much time over analyzing it,” he rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elise was laughing so hard at Engelberta’s red face she was in tears despite her usual shy demeanor, and even if she was staring disapprovingly at the scenes depicted in the fire, Sophie’s smile was warm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 50 of the New Surian calendar - Summer</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bretty! Oh god, it’s been so long. I would love to say you grew up since last time but…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he saw Belle again, he didn’t expect the burst of joy in his chest to overweight panic. He forgot, sometimes, that she had been his big sister as much as she was Eddy’s, they both grew up looking up to her playing - she was that cool older sibling that always knew more than them about everything. It had been so frustrating for Eddy when he had finally been able to see his sister again, after five years of separation, and she had been deployed so soon following their reunion - his childhood friend had cried all night, and they had made their second promise that night - </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’ll find her, Eddy. I promise we’ll find her again - </span>
  </em>
  <span>the second of a long string.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They didn’t have time for a heartfelt reunion, though. Belle’s squad had been brought in their camp as an emergency, because two dragons had passed the summits of the Paals as the fighting was raging down in the valley and every other melomage was either busy trying to keep the tanks from going through, or stopping the first dragon down south. The second one circling low above their camp was his and Belle’s task. They had to hold it back and stale for as much time as possible until reinforcement arrived. So she grabbed her keyboard, slung the strap above her shoulder, jumped from the cart and ran all the way to the foot of the mountain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Classical or experimental?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember who you’re talking to?” he mumbled, already placing his violin between his left shoulder and his chin, ignoring her -</span>
  <em>
    <span> Oh, true, purebred classical nerd</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he was too stressed about handling a dragon almost all by himself to answer. The summer was bright and hot, making his hands sweaty and giving everything around them an extra shine, Belle settled the keyboard in a swift movement and smirked at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My little brother did this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The artefact on your ear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Yeah,” he skimmed a finger over the stone and smiled despite the pressure. “But maybe we’ll talk jewelry after stopping the dragon from burning down our entire army.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kreutzer Sonata? The first movement may be enough, but be ready to play through the entire piece. You shouldn’t make your threads cutting, they won’t slice through a dragon’s scales, but try to have them sticky. To whip and to trap.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was so calm and methodical, it was easy to follow her lead, to let her steady attitude calm him down enough for his hands to stop shaking and his breath to even out, he felt like a little kid again, in awe of her fingers dancing over the piano. Her threads - a darker blue than Eddy’s - carried his red ones up to the sky, intertwining, strengthening with every new note.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the savagery began. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Threads lashing out, not fearing the flames of the spitfire, dancing and dissolving, cheating the beast’s attention before sneaking behind and raging - the crimson of Brett’s playing redder than ever under the passion. Like a madman he let his magic explode on its own, closed his eyes to drown under the melody. His earring burned where it touched his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had to play through the entire piece.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But they won.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 50 of the New Surian calendar - Autumn</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was soon after the dragon that he had talked to Hilary Hahn for the first time, during one of those weeks long lulls that would happen between huge battles. As a High Mage, she had come to the valley to give Belle and him a decoration of some sort for terassing the creature against all odds - it was to boost the morale of the troops, some said. There was a whole speech given by General Kernold detailing how brave they had been, how impressive it was, how they were going to be remembered for this. He wondered if the general realized how ridiculous this whole thing was. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nobody </span>
  </em>
  <span>outside of the government and the army knew they existed, whose ears would news of this achievement reach? He didn’t give a shit about their medal, he didn’t win because he was brave, he had won because he wanted to stay alive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A lot of Surians had died during this attack, this whole thing was just wildly inappropriate. He could see on the expressions of the knights he wasn’t the only one thinking that way - Engelberta's usual tanned face was livid and Oliver’s lips were so tight that they had lost all color.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the farce of a ceremony had been done, he had tried to sleep. It should have been easy, really, with how exhausted he permanently felt. He needed to vent but his ranting had been cut short - </span>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t talk like that</span>
  </em>
  <span> - Hyung had admonished him, checking nobody was listening on them when Brett had started openly complaining about the government.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver would have listened to him but Brett had no reason to go near the knights’ quarters at this hour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He missed Eddy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over and over, he turned in his sheets, trying to match his breathing to Hyung’s snores next to him in their shared tent. The bubbling emotions inside of him refused to shut up. A new spark of anger or solitude slicing through drowsiness every time he was about to pass out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he gave up, grabbed his glasses and walked out. Never strayed too far from camp, but enough that it was just him and some peace. Summer heat still lazed around the corner of the autumn night despite the wind breathing down on their camp from the valley. There weren’t any trees anymore at the foot of the mountains, most of them had been destroyed over the decades-long conflict this place had witnessed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still pissed. Pissed about this pretense of recognition, about the hypocrisy of the whole thing, treating him as a hero that chose to be here, when he wasn’t even allowed to communicate with his best friend, when he had been ripped from his family at twelve. He was even more pissed that it was under those circumstances that he got to meet his teenagehood idol.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because despite it all, some part of him was still elated that Hilary Hahn herself had put a medal around his neck, that she knew he existed, that she spoke to him. He had already seen her from afar once, in the Tower, and had gripped Eddy’s arm so strongly his friend had complained about bruises for days afterward. But now he was lost in conflicting feelings. He knew the people you grew up idolizing could rarely live up to the expectation you had of them, but he couldn’t help the ting of disappointment, teeth abusing his lower lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s a melomage too. How can she not realize this is bullshit? How can she support kids taken away without consent, the constant surveillance, the secrets?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It bothered him. It bothered him and Brett was a simple man, when something nagged him, he wanted to get rid of it. He looked at his fingers, frowning, the calluses on his skin thicker every year. He remembered the man his child self wanted him to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The impulse shook his body and he didn’t fight it. Walked back to the camp, didn’t stop until he was right in front of her tent, the bodyguard in front of it watching him with narrowed eyes, and didn’t plug back his brain before it could warn him this was a bad idea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“High Mage Hahn.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The melomage wasn’t sleeping either, because it only took her a few seconds to exit her pavilion, violin dangling from her fingers - probably practicing with a discretion spell on. She rested a hand on her guard's biceps when he tensed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Hi. Brett Yang, is that it? It’s good that you came, I actually wanted to talk to you. But do you need something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hilary Hahn was smiling at him with gentleness and his mind short circuited. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- Huh-” he vaguely remembered he was supposed to be angry, but the reason kept fleeting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mounts of the Paals were shining silver under the moon, she was still smiling, her bodyguard still staring him down and words kept getting lost on their way from his mind to his mouth. The high mage raised her eyebrow with worry as the silence stretched. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I have an autograph?” he finally blurted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the strings of events that had followed. She had been so surprised at his request she hadn’t even laughed, just took out a pen and - </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t have anything I can sign - </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had realized. Since he was an idiot, instead of using that as an opportunity to tell her the autograph wasn’t actually the reason he was here, he had answered - </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me get my violin case - </span>
  </em>
  <span>and had gone back, feet on automatic inside his tent, grabbed his case and went back to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked at her as she signed it, elegant fingers moving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you believe in all that crap?” he finally inquired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t ask him to elaborate, but her smile was tighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to practice with me tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been years since he had seen anybody thread a discretion spell, and his chest ached for his best friend, when he realized he would rather have seen blue than the gold of her magic, as it shimmered one last time around them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Away from prying eyes and ears, he had learned, then, that she was just like them. A girl ripped from her parents, just another melomage, a bit lost in the middle of the war. She was just better than all of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - 6th of July</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the fights escalated at the eastern border and the ghoul problem got out of control, Hilary Hahn had come back multiple times to help them. She wasn’t the only one, Belle’s squad had joined them indefinitely and he had even crossed paths with other high mages - Hyung had been walking on cloud nine the whole day High Mage Ma had been at their camp, ranting about how unique the sounds coming from his cello were. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett had been so ashamed at his own social ineptitude, though, it had taken him weeks to manage to speak to High Mage Hahn without stutter, months before being able to look at her in the eyes, seasons to succeed in regularly addressing her by her first name. Almost a year before he had been able to call her a friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood in her pavillon, hands sweating and stomach churning as she looked at him questioningly but not without kindness, packing up clothes for her travel back to Prass the next day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Words couldn’t get out of his mouth, choked up in his throat. She was his only chance but there was so much at risk here. His fist closed around the paper in his pocket, a half-written letter he couldn’t bring himself to finish. It was probably a stupid decision, but then again, he wasn’t new to them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s this person,” he started, “and I made a promise to them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiled.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Musicography:</p><p>Shostakovich String Quartet No.8<br/>Beethoven Violin Sonata No.9 “Kreutzer Sonata“</p><p>Notes:</p><p>Et voilà. Another fat chapter, to compensate for the short letters. Hopefully it gave some nice reading material to those of you who were bored :)</p><p>I carefully select my music pieces so they would match not only the spell, but also the mood of what I’m writing, so check them out. </p><p>The next installment should come out on Saturday, since writing letters is fast. Once again, look at the dates if you do not want to be confused;</p><p>It’s implied, but for more clarity: Brett was born on March of the Year 30 of the new Surian calendar, and Eddy on March of the Year 31, I kept the same age difference.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Dear Eddy (I worry about you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! Here is the next letter, as promised :)</p><p>Some more plot elements slipped into this letter (they actually make the story progress I promise xD)<br/>Thank you everyone for your comments on the last chapter :) it makes me really happy because I very much enjoy writing this story, and I’m really invested in it. (I dream about it sometimes).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Dear Eddy (I’m worried about you): </span>
</h1>

<p></p><blockquote><p>
    <em>
      <span>30th of August, 51</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
    <em>
      <span>Man, are you okay?</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<p>
    <em>
      <span>I’ve had time to try and guess what the wristband you sent me was for, since you didn’t deem necessary to add any indication in your letter. At first I thought it was some kind of joke, I was like ‘Is this a poisoned gift? I’ve never felt more anxious in my life?’ And I knew it didn’t come from me, but didn’t figure it out until recently. It’s coming from you, isn’t it? It’s your Anxiety. Does this artefact allow me to know how you feel? If that’s the case, man, that’s sick! That’s some kind of next level friendship bracelet. I’ve never heard of anything like that before. Also, it’s cool looking.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<p>
    <em>
      <span>But I’m fucking worried about you now. Because the only times you’re not anxious you’re terrified</span>
    </em>
    <span>.</span>
    <em>
      <span> Would I be able to tell if you’re hurting? Is pain a feeling? I don’t know what’s going on with you, nothing too serious seems to have happened from what you wrote in your letter but if this lasts and your spell works both ways, you’re going to feel my own anxiety on top of yours with how I’ll have managed to worry myself sick for you.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<p>
    <em>
      <span>I must have reread your letter about twelve times now (by the way, the back of a music sheet? You couldn't even bother to fetch actual paper to write to your best friend?). It’s the only exciting thing that happened in the past month. I’m not really complaining though, at least people have stopped dying. Speaking of dying, we received way too many charms, but none of them worked when we tried them out on the dead bodies, they still turned into ghouls so something might be wrong in the communication between here and the nefarious Tower (I’m starting to run out of insults, I actually asked for a dictionary today, surprisingly there was none so I asked my friend to spit off every insult he knew until I was satisfied with one). We had to burn all the bodies of the victims to stop it from spreading. And it’s not just us. We’ve seen Glannish and Bellanian soldiers do the same, from the other side of the valley. I forget sometimes, that those are actual human beings we are fighting. They have been branded as ‘the enemy’ for so long, they’ve become faceless in my mind. I think it’s maybe better that way, I would never be able to pick up my violin again otherwise. I envy you sometimes, when I delude myself into believing that you can focus your playing on creating beautiful things and protecting people. But then I remember what your reality is like and I know none of us has it better than the other.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<p>
    <em>
      <span>At least, I don’t think you need to fear for my life anymore, now. I can’t believe I’m saying this in the middle of a war, but I’m actually getting bored. The ghouls really made everyone take a step back with how horrible it was for both sides. There’s going to be a meeting in a few weeks to discuss peace, at the center of the valley. So the fights are stalling, and the other melomages and I are useless at this point, plus I think we’ve been away from the cursed Tower for too long, our magic keeps on getting weaker. Mostly, the knights of our squad are ordered to solve quibbles between lords near the border, and since those lords don’t know about melomages, we just stay in the camp all day. Everyone you know is faring well, more or less. They’re alive and not injured at least.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<p>
    <em>
      <span>Did you know? Apparently, until recently the regions were still kinda fighting each other when the Emperor was not looking. I don’t remember that from our History classes but maybe you do. I bet I know more than you now, I’ve got this friend, you should meet him, he’s the biggest nerd. The two of you would never stop talking. He loves conspiracy theories, and it’s actually kind of fun to listen to him, he’s half-convinced the emperor orchestrated this whole war just to keep the country united.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<p>
    <em>
      <span>As for how I managed to convince our homing pigeon (God, I can’t believe I’m describing them like this, I actually laughed out loud when I read it in your letter), they were pretty enthusiastic at the idea of helping us and I can safely say we are pretty good friends by now. So literally all I had to do was ask. I don’t really know why, but they told me they had a soft spot for the two of us, so yeah, at least we got that going for us. The story of how I came to be friends with them is actually very humiliating though, I’ll tell you about it when I come back to Prass, so you can make fun of me. I expect the same kind of embarrassing anecdotes from you, so you better prepare yourself. They were very impressed by your wristband by the way, told me they were surprised someone so young managed to come up with something like that. I’m proud of you, hey.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<p>
    <em>
      <span>If you could try and send me one of those shoulder rest things with your next letter, I would be infinitely grateful. I think I need it, seeing as I need to play twice as long to produce the same result I easily did three years ago. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
<p>
    <em>
      <span>And freaking take care of yourself! You told me you would, but even as I write, I can feel your anxiety constricting in my chest. I know I’m far away, but if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better, anything at all, tell me and I’ll try, whatever it is.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
    <em>
      <span>P.S. No, I don’t push a grand piano around the battlefield, I have a keyboard I developed when I was still at the Tower. It’s smaller and lighter, with a strap around it so I can carry it around, don’t you remember me working on it? And please throw away those old things, the new pieces I composed since I left are way better than those experimentations. By the way, you did great with your best friend’s earring and wristband, I’m proud of you too. I miss you little brother, I hope the lack of fighting lately means we will be able to return to Prass soon and maybe see Mom again. Love, your sister.</span>
    </em>
  </p></blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here you go. Next chapter will focus on some of their years at the Tower, so finally some actual interactions, thanks for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 3: Keeping the melody</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They try to separate them. It never really works.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! Here’s a new chapter :) there’s some smut in this, it’s easy to spot it, starts at “okay, let’s do this now” and ends after the asterisk (*).</p><p>Thank you for everyone who left a comment :) I love to interact with you. And than you again Ria for your very efficient beta reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 3: Keeping the melody</span>
</h1><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 45 of the New Surian calendar - Spring</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew she had been slowly losing it. She could feel it slip from the tip of her fingers without warning, in the middle of practice, threading a shield, while lashing out against armies. But she was too busy to care. Too many people to protect, too many enemies to fight. Her arm moved to the cadenza of the Brahms violin concerto, deep and slow, high and light, she could do it all. Forgetting almost that there was an entire orchestra behind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It went on and on and on. The magic building with the music. Faster. More powerful. The golden threads of her sound made all the richer by the Brahms she was trying to bring to life never stopping, on their own or weaving with the orchestra, they climbed the wall of the Tower, sparkling one last time before joining the pure energy gathering at the top. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was able to feel it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The drop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That moment when she should have felt a spark, a burst of emotion low in her stomach and a smile coming unbidden on her lips. But nothing happened. Nothing more than magic came out of her violin, and she knew she wouldn’t get her melody back for this performance. It didn’t matter, in the grand ordeal of things. Nobody would notice her heart wasn’t into it anymore, as long as her playing stayed perfect. Her golden threads kept building the spell and they would win.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was no feeling of victory when the blast exploded above the city, forty minutes of accumulated energy taking down the dragon menacing Prass with it. She hadn’t even finished lowering her bow when, from the floor below, they heard the singers intone the Kirie of the Bach Mass, threading anew into the shield the protections the dragon had broken when he had raided the capital now that the threat was over. The music never stopped here - </span>
  <em>
    <span>but what of the melody?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her orchestra cheered, and Master Omon grinned at her with the love of a proud father - it wasn’t that far from the truth, the man had practically raised her. She still smiled, thanked everybody, politely nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t wait to be alone, to thread a bubble of privacy and melt in the arms of her husband.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she had been sent to fight for the first time at the South to push back Spanglan encroaching on their territory, seventeen years old and devoted to music, still so young for a high mage, the higher ups had assigned knight Arne Beck to be with her at all time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At Master Omon’s request, surely. To protect her because she was precious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had liked the knight, he didn’t talk a lot and wasn’t the funniest man alive, but he was steadfast and honest, becoming a pillar of her life before she realized it - his gift was to make flowers bloom. It was only when Arne fell in love with her that she discovered he was also supposed to report anything she did to the Minister of Defence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t been angry at him, all her life she had been doing what the Tower asked her, he was no different. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had been married secretly by a priest who had had no idea who they were, in a tiny village of the southern border by a lake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think they will tell the people this time, to explain the giant golden blast that took down a dragon in one shot?“ she sighed. “I really wonder how long the lies will last...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you shouldn’t talk like that here,” Arne whispered back. “Even if you are Hilary Hahn.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. She had been perfect her whole life, never raised her voice or questioned what they told her, it was starting to feel old - the only thing she had done for herself was marry the man by her side. And with the war raging, they couldn’t get rid of her anyway, there were too few high mages as it was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The musicians on night shield duty were still playing the Mass, the voices never getting fainter even as she climbed down the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know if I’m supposed to be deployed right away, or if I have some time to rest?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You probably have a few hours in front of you, but I’m afraid we will be on the road before dawn, they need you back in the East.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand brushed the back of her elbow, a gesture small enough it could be seen as accidental by anyone else, but the secret confort it carried instantly brought a smile to her lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should eat something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“High Mage Hahn,” he articulated. “It is the middle of the night. The kitchens are closed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” she giggled when she saw he had his no-nonsense face on. “I’m pretty sure going into the kitchens is not forbidden to me and I’m hungry. I’ll try to cook us something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh and she knew she had won.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ll do it, you just rest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They never ended up eating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t yet crossed the double door when she heard birds chirping, or- was it violin playing? Flickering and muted. Who in their right mind was threading a spell at this hour in the middle of the kitchens?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her left hand rested on Arne’s forearm to keep him from bursting into the kitchen and she pushed the door just enough to peak inside. There was nothing to be seen, though, and her eyebrows climbed up when she realized it must have been because of a discretion spell. It was slightly faulty and allowed snippets of sound to cross it, here and there, enough that she heard two violins and almost chuckled out loud. Were there really two melomages out of their beds at two in the morning just to practice? </span>
  <em>
    <span>In the kitchens?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t feel like interrupting them or giving them a scare, so she just stayed there for a moment, trying to recognize the piece with the crumbs filtering through the spell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the magic flickered out of existence, but none of the boys previously hidden behind it had noticed yet, too busy looking at each other or their own fingers while they worked through their duet. They were about fifteen; their dark hair, eye shape and nose reminded her of Angish men.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Sarasate’s Navarra, the piece,” she leaned back and whispered to her husband. She should have guessed really - the chirping birds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something to their playing that captured her breath and attention, bringing an unconscious smile on her lips. It was in the genuine grins when they nailed a run, the bursts of laughter when they were out of tune. In the honest joy of trying a piece together. In the bow stuttering on the strings when the laughing went out of control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact that no threads came out of their violins. Music and no magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t seen melomages play just for the sake of playing in… She couldn’t remember.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was coming back, like a stream of water, filling every blank space, cleaning away all her tiredness with new energy. Her organs rearranging themselves around it, welcoming it like an old friend she had missed. Her fingers twitched and her eyes darted to the violin case in Arne’s big hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>play.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck! Eddy, the spell faded!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other in panic and ran to the door, violins still in hand. The hall was empty save for two shapes going down the stairs. The smaller one turned their face up and smiled in their direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy- It’s Hilary Hahn! Oh my God, It’s Hilary Hahn!” Brett started hyperventilating. “Dude, I think she looked at us!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, she didn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I swear, she did! She even smiled! Oh God- Do you think she heard us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bro, you’re hurting me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she looked at us!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If she did then we’re in serious trouble, we’re not supposed to play together anymore, remember? Especially not in the middle of the night. Come on, we should go back to bed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook off the hand that was still wrapped around his biceps and dragged by the wrist his starstruck friend to their violin cases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Brett managed to get out of his Hilary-Hahn-induced stupor, Eddy was already threading anew the discretion spell that would allow them to return to their respective bedroom without too much trouble. A few minutes of the Debussy violin sonata were enough for his blue threads to dissolve into magic around them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Navarra’s a fun piece,” Brett commented as he was putting his instrument back into its case. “We should ask Alex to play the piano part with us too, when we can play it properly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We will need more practice before that,” Eddy snorted. “And how do you suggest we play with Alex when there’s this whole separation thing? He can’t very well bring a whole piano into the kitchen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll find a way, we always do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I admire your optimism.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, they still didn’t manage to separate us this time around, so...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. True. I guess we’ll keep on being a pain in the masters’ ass, hey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had taken several detentions, harsh punishments and multiples failed attempts at stronger discretion spells before they found this spot in the kitchen. It was the only place where they hadn’t been caught when sneaking around to see each other since they had been separated - maybe because nobody thought two teenage boys would practice there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t about them, really, they knew this. It was just how things were in the Tower, defense, attack and unsorted melomages weren’t supposed to talk with each other. But ever since Brett had been sorted in the attack section a few weeks ago, they had tried </span>
  <em>
    <span>every single night. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Because they thought that rule was stupid, because they still had music to play together, because they were best friends and they wouldn’t seat quietly while they were being ordered to never see the other again when they lived in the same building.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>They had laughed so hard in the face of the masters’ inability to keep them separated, hidden under the table of the kitchen for the first time, they couldn’t understand how most of the other kids just </span><em><span>obeyed</span></em><span>. Even once Eddy got sorted into the defense section a year after, it changed nothing. Most of the teenagers here had been brought to the Tower between twelve and fourteen years old, they had had years to grow up with each other, until they were separated into sections at fifteen and given their own room. Brett and Eddy had thought everybody would be like them, stealthily avoiding the surveillance to meet their friends, finding the cracks in the rules. But most of the people here believed</span> <span>what they were told. It baffled them.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 46 of the New Surian calendar - January</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, don’t be a def,” the girl whined at Brett when he said </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the fifth time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was eighteen, would be sent off to fight soon, and had asked him repeatedly to spar with her when she was supposed to tutor him. He had refused everytime - </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is stupid, you’ll just both get injured, plus she won’t be fighting other melomages at the front anyway, she’ll have to work </span>
  </em>
  <span>with</span>
  <em>
    <span> them - </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddy’s voice would say in his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with being a defense melomage?” he frowned, fingers twitching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everybody knows they’re boring pussies.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you dumb?” he replied defensively, coiling his fists. “They’re the same people they were before they went to the defense section. And I don’t see how playing all day to protect everyone means they aren’t brave. You’re just jealous cause you know they’re smarter than you’ll ever be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pfft. You’re spending too much time with your little def. Everybody knows the two of you keep meeting up, even if they can’t prove it. Does he still yelp at your heels like a lost puppy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She opened her mouth to mimic a bark- </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>When Eddy asked how he had found himself in detention </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Brett refused to tell it was because he had punched a girl, nursing his own bruises hidden under his sleeves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His childhood friend was thinking too much - maybe that was a prerequisite of being a defense melomage - he could get lost in his head for hours and then spit out the most random things. Maybe that’s what the girl he had punched meant by ‘boring’. But Brett failed to see how that was a bad thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do you think people hide their smile behind their shirt when they are happy? I noticed a lot of people are doing it - You do it all the time. Is it because maybe we feel vulnerable showing our mirth? Like it could be taken advantage of? Or maybe because we want to keep it to ourselves because it feels intimate in a way, to smile like that, because it shows too much…..”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy was looking at him expectantly then, as if he actually was waiting for Brett to add something insightful to that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess so. I don’t know, dude,” he wanted to laugh at him, but he was feeling fond tonight, so he didn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As long as it didn’t morph into anxiety, his best friend was free to delve into the depth of his own mind, he would just listen and nod, pretending to understand even when he didn’t. That’s exactly what he did, leaning back against a wall of the kitchen, violin case still untouched by his side. He let Eddy think out loud about anything and everything, the sound of his voice washing over him, the familiarity of it distracting him from all that urgency, this pressure the masters of the Tower were constantly putting on their back, the sharp eyes of higher ups surveilling them in their government uniform, assessing when they would be ready to win the war for them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude, you should go back to your dorm. You can’t sleep in the kitchen,” Eddy shook him awake at around three in the morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett nodded sleepily and stumbled half awake to his bed, noticing only once he crashed on top of his sheets that there was warming magic interwoven with the discretion spell Eddy had threaded on him earlier. He smiled. Screw that girl, defense melomages were the best.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 46 of the New Surian Calendar - August</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His high E went wildly out of tune, making him grit his teeth. It was so bad his focus broke, and the blue tendrils threading themselves fell over before the spell was completed, vanishing without reaching the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, Chen, you messed up </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How can you be so sloppy, it sounds like an attack playing,” the frustrated master snapped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this supposed to be an insult?” he mumbled under his breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This private lesson just kept on being worse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it is, they’re brutish and incapable of focus, they wildly wave their threads around without trying to understand how they work. Half of them don’t even thread actual spells, they just brute force hoping they’ll hit something.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And they will also risk their life while we stay safely hidden in the Tower,” Eddy stated, his tone never rising, but definitely mulish. “They feel the passion of the music more than we could ever, they’re giving it their all every time they play their instrument.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are only saying this because your friend got sorted into the attack section. It is true we need them, but no need to emulate their disastrous technique. Not everything is about your Brett Yang. You need to grow up, Chen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How can you be so close-minded when there are people out there like high mages that can be both at the time? Are you saying High Mage Hahn is brutish too because she can wield attack magic? And incapable of focus?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cold silence that followed this statement would have induced him into a panic attack if he hadn’t felt so rightfully angry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you should get out of my class,” the master enunciated without raising his voice, but his lips were tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gladly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His childhood friend never backed away from anything, even if sometimes it meant unplugging his brain and forging ahead when all it would bring him was trouble. Maybe that was what the master meant by ‘brutish’. But Eddy failed to see how that was a bad thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t kill to save my life,” he confessed one evening. “It’s not even a manner of speech, I literally can’t do anything else other than hide, protect or craft artefacts.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, if there’s ever a need for it, I’ll do it for the both of us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow, would you look at that, knight Brett Yang jumping to my rescue,” he chuckled. “Will you thread yourself a sword?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He got tickled for being a smartass, but it was worth it when they were both giggling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Attack melomages weren’t incapable of focus, they were the bravest people Eddy knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They didn’t forget they were at war, even locked up in that Tower, how could they? Every new spell, every new piece they learned was war-orientated. Even the creatures they studied in biology were all the beasts that had revealed themselves to be threats.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The country had been at war before they were even born, but Eddy mumbled under his breath how their History lessons didn’t make sense sometimes - </span>
  <em>
    <span>You weren’t there, why do you have to doubt everything? - </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alex had rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it bothered him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fifty years ago, the first emperor, Audric I, came out of nowhere; nobody knew where he came from, what his gift was, what name he answered to before. But in a blaze of glory, he had invaded - ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>united’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>they would say in class - all of Surie, making of all those independent lands the Surian Empire. He had crushed every lord that opposed him, silenced all opposition, and brought them together. Quite a feat. Yet no book talked about why and how he had managed that - with which army, which weapons? Eddy didn’t trust the books forced down their throat anyway, none of them talked about melomages either, but there they were. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been a good ruler though, nobody could take that away from him. For the few years the country had been at peace after the unification, it had flourished, becoming one of the most powerful one in all the continent, a paragon of culture and knowledge. He was fair too. The lords from the lands closest to Prass had submitted more easily to his authority and they had retained most of their former privileges.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a rumor, also, that Audric I was the one who had reinstated the Tower. That it had just been a ruin before he came, and only after he started ruling had the melomages started appearing all over Surie, while the Tower became one of the most important parts of the government. But a hidden one. For the people down there, it was a scientific headquarter, charged with developing new, high technology weapons - they didn’t know eighteen years old were part of the weapons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then all hell had broken loose. It was simple enough to understand, really. The countries around them had been wary of this new empire, surging out of nowhere. Possessing a fighting force nobody knew how to counter. So Bellani had tried to overthrow the Surian Empire with a surprise attack North of the Paals.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This had started the war.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Parts of this story didn’t sit well with Eddy, so many unknown variables, so many secrets, so many inconsistencies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But in the end, they were just teenagers locked up in a Tower where they played and threaded all day. This damn country could keep its secrets and its ploys, all they wanted to do was stay alive and together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 46 of the New Surian calendar - Autumn</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They were so busy being melomages that sometimes they forgot they were sixteen years old boys. They hadn’t grown up under normal conditions, they never had </span>
  <em>
    <span>the talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>with their parents, nobody had told them what they were supposed to do with the hormones raging in their bodies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So it shouldn’t really have been a surprise when Eddy let himself slide against the wall of the kitchen after they had tried to practice one of the Wieniawski Caprices for two violins, massaging his fingers, and looked at him from under his fringe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m horny.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha- Bro,” Brett chuckled, putting down his violin before sitting beside him. “Don’t you jerk off?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do,” he whined, voice cracking like it had done for the past few months. “But I always feel like it’s not enough. Like I’ve got too much pressure on my shoulders, and it doesn’t help me release a quarter of it. Plus sometimes I think the guy in the next room can hear me and it gets really awkward.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I get it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stayed silent for a bit, letting the night weigh on them and Brett became more and more aware of how warm his best friend felt against his side. Then, he opened his mouth before he could think.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe- maybe I could help you? And you could help me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like,” his heart was thundering in his chest now, and he regretted everything but kept talking. “We could help each other. Jerk off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t that be weird?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah me neither,” Eddy whispered back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you- are you horny? Right now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m so pent up, you have no idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett licked his lower lip. He was starting to be curious, what would another hand feel like on his dick? How would it be to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> with someone like that? What kind of noise would the other make? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Let’s do this now,” he decided. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually?” Eddy widened his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, climb on my lap or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His best friend swallowed but did as he was told - eagerly, clumsily - somehow already breathing faster. Their hands were shaking as they opened their flies, hesitating before they finally started touching the other. Eddy’s forehead fell against his own at the first contact, a low groan escaping his mouth. He was hard already against Brett’s fingers. His own dick twitched when his best friend sneaked past his underwear with a weird urgency and grabbed him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come one, touch me more,” Eddy rolled his hips, grinding down on him, stroking him, and Brett gasped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you so bossy suddenly?” he mumbled but complied, wrapping his hand directly around the other’s dick, it was so weird to hold another one than his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes-“ Eddy rasped, grinding down harder, eyes fluttering close. “Like that. Tighten your fist a bit. Oh. Yes-” he melted even more against Brett’s body. “How-” his own moan cut him off. “How would you like it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Faster,” he whispered back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his friend obeyed, his hand so much bigger than Brett’s, covering his dick almost entirely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew he was making noises, but he couldn’t hear himself, because Eddy was wavering between two sounds: high pitched keens or low, low grunting, raspy against his throat. His breath was fanning on Brett’s mouth, their foreheads sweating against each other. It was starting to get better down there, slicker, their hands moved more smoothly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was heady to see his best friend like this, so openly needy, so determined to please him at the same time. This was ten times better than jerking off alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Eddy was curling against him, his forehead fell on Brett’s shoulder, his free hand grasping at the front of his shirt, spasming and moaning, lips moving against his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This set him off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were both still panting, trying to wrap their mind around it, and Brett looked down at himself with a wince.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t suppose you know a spell that would help clean that up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even if I did, I wouldn’t dare touch my violin seeing the state of my hand,” he wiggled his dirty fingers in front of his best friend’s eyes and Brett made a face. “But I’ll think of something beforehand next time.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Next time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They did this a number of times over the years. When it was too much, when they needed release, when they weren’t enough on their own. They were starting to get better at it too, more in tune with the other’s body, more daring in their explorations.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then Eddy got a girlfriend from the defense section and Brett was back to the company of his hand. It felt too small, too dainty against his own skin. His room was silent when he muffled his sounds against the back of his palm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 48 of the New Surian calendar - 2nd of September</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They knew it was coming, every older attack melomage had left and Brett had already hit eighteen months ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the last time they would sit beside each other, against that kitchen wall that had been witness to so much. Eddy was crying, face hidden behind his knees, trying to muffle the sounds, and Brett's throat was tight, but he held back his tears. He had to stay strong, for the both of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be okay, Eddy,” he kept saying. “We’ll find a way. This isn’t over, I promise I’ll find a way to reach you. I’ll do it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had never heard back from anybody who had left, save for high mages. It seemed a crazy promise but he wouldn’t let a bunch of stuck up higher ups stand in their way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You better,” his best friend mumbled, finally raising his head. His face was blotchy, eyes red and nose runny. “I swear if you die, I’ll find a spell to bring you back-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just so you can kill me again, hey. I’ve heard that line before. Doesn’t seem very smart though so I don’t think you’ll actually do it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right, I would just bring you back,” he sniffled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You won’t have to. I swear. I’ll stay alive, and I’ll find a way to reach you from the outside, trust me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do,” his best friend smiled weakly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened his violin case and took out a jewel from it, the red gem was glinting in the night, and even if it was too dark to see the carvings on it, Brett knew they were there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s an earring, I’ve been working on it for the past month in anticipation of this moment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it for?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just to protect you from small things. Every kind of small thing, I’m not powerful enough to do more but-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he answered genuinely, taking off the generic earring attack melomages were given before their departure to replace it with this one. “Do you want to play tonight? No magic, just music.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Navarra?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Navarra.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Musicographie:<br/>Brahms violin concerto in D major<br/>Bach Mass in B minor<br/>Sarasate Op.33 Navarra<br/>Debussy violin sonata<br/>Wieniawski Etude-Caprice for 2 violins Op.18 No.4</p><p>So? How was it? I hope you liked this glimpse of their life in the Tower, the next chapter will kept going back into time, so I hope it doesn’t get boring, and the rhythm is still nice.</p><p>I’m also writing a medium length one shot, different first meeting AU, just to give you some fluff, to take a break from all that plot and angst :) it should be ready in a few days I think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Dear Brett (run)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Run.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I almost forgot to post this xD it’s evening already where I am, and I was about to go to sleep even though the chapter was ready to be posted.</p><p>Enjoy the short update :) it’s giving all of Eddy’s conclusion about the current situation.</p><p>Thank you Ria for the beta reading, you’re amazing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Dear Brett (run):</span>
</h1><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>8th of September, 51</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>There’s one thing you can do to make me feel better: run!</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Warn my sister, the friends you love and run away, now! Trust me.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Don’t even read the rest of this before you’re far enough from the border you can’t see the mountains anymore.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <h1>
<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>
</h1>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Have you done it? Have you ran away? Are you safe? Don’t forget, with the wristband, I’ll be able to tell if you feel guilty. I’ll know (and don’t take it off, it’ll just make me panic and think you’re dead).</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>The day after I received your first letter, almost two months ago, I discovered something, and I haven’t stopped being scared to death for you ever since. The only thing keeping me sane, ironically, was to feel your worry. If you had time to be worried about me, it meant you weren’t in immediate danger. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I’m so fucking relieved the spell on our wristbands is working by the way. I really wasn’t sure about it, with the Tower blocking all kinds of communication between inside and outside, so I bet everything I had on the fact that feelings wouldn’t be seen as direct communication by the barrier. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they don’t work at all times, the spell only activates if one of us is playing (it’s what’s feeding the magic). Lucky for us, our instruments are in our hands practically from the moment we wake up till the moment we fall asleep (so literally, everytime you take up your violin, you’re telling me how you feel). I was worried, too, that it would be too taxing on you, that the passive spell would sap energy you would usually put in your attacks and make you weaker, so I hesitated a long while before joining it to the letter, but I’m glad I did now. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Because you don’t need powerful spells to stay alive, you need to get the hell out of there.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Guess what’s the threat? Our own fucking country. You should listen to your friend’s conspiracy theories, half of them are probably true from what I saw.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>You know all those artefacts you received that didn’t work for your ghoul situation? What you put all over the dead bodies of the battlefield aren’t protection charms, they are freaking explosives! I would know, I helped make some.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>They’re set to react in a chain effect when they encounter the melody engraved in them. The higher-ups knew that between knights and attack melomages, nobody at the border would be able to understand the real meaning of the carvings, and I gather with how busy they are, despite being versed in both attack and defense, high mages don’t bother with trifle tasks like handling artefacts. So you all are in the middle of a minefield that you planted yourself and nobody is none the wiser. Do you understand now, why I’m slowly dying of anxiety? And it’s not even over, wait for the best part.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>From what you also told me, the peace negotiations are about to start in a couple of weeks, give or take, right? Well, I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s going to be on the 21st of September, at 2 p.m. Because would you know what we’ve been asked to play, at this exact date? A new concerto for piano, High Mage Lang is coming to the Tower specifically for this. We have been handed the music sheets already and some music analysis confirmed my hunch: it’s a bit hidden, but during the second movement there’s exactly the pattern that’s been carved on the explosive charms.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>So you have until the 21st of September, 2 p.m. to put as much distance between all the people we care for and the eastern border as you can. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>“Dude, you are at the Tower, how do you expect what you play to reach the eastern border?” you’ll tell me.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Well, that’s the other thing (this letter will never stop, I swear it’s so thick already you’ll think I’m writing you a novel). There are these weird plans I discovered too, along with the exploding artefact, they’re </span>
    </em>
    <span>ancient</span>
    <em>
      <span>. It took me ages - almost a month and a half - to start understanding them. The first one is basically just a spell for a shield, a very, very powerful shield, and the other one is an amplifier of some sort.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>The people who built the Tower thousands of years ago knew what they were doing, apparently it's placed right at the middle of some acoustic lines. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Remember when we were kids and we stumbled upon this weird room behind the stairs? With all the cracks in the ground and the strange energy that made us run away? I’ll bet everything this is it - the nexus of acoustic lines that enhances our magic.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Between this and the amplifier, the shield should cover the entirety of the Empire, not just Prass. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>But think about it. If it works for a shield, why wouldn’t it work for the concerto we’ll play on the 21st of September?</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I don’t claim that I’ve figured it all out, but a few things stand out clearly here:</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p> </p>
  <ul>
<li><em><span>The eastern border has been given a bunch of very, very powerful explosives that are spread around the valley now and they activate with a melody.</span></em></li>
</ul>
  <ul>
<li><span>There are to be peace treaty negotiations going on in the middle of the valley at a date I assume is around the 21st of September.</span></li>
</ul>
  <ul>
<li><span>Nobody in the Tower knows about the potential promise of peace. We’ve been kept completely in the dark as to what is going on at the borders. </span></li>
</ul>
  <ul>
<li><span>The defense melomages have been ordered to play a concerto that can activate those exploding artefacts on what I suppose is the day of the negotiations.</span></li>
</ul>
  <ul>
<li><span>There are plans of an amplifier that can make the Tower’s magic reach the whole country.</span></li>
</ul>
  <p> </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Whatever the end goal is, it’s clear some people up there don’t want that peace treaty happening and they’re ready to blow up all of our own army deployed east to keep it from becoming a reality. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I’ve warned the person bringing you this letter, I don’t know if they believe me, but the more people are suspicious, the better it is. I’ve also arranged with our friends at the Tower to mess up the playing on the 21st. I’ve prepared a lot of little spells and every kind of stupid thing that can hold it off and prevent it from happening. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I don’t know how successful I’ll be in this endeavor though, so don’t count on that and decide to stay at the front to play hero. I trust you to hold your promise: Stay alive long enough so we can see each other again.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here you go :D once again thank you to all the people who left comments, it really motivates me to keep writing</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 4: Don’t leave me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They are twelve, they are fifteen, they don’t want to be separated.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one came a bit later than usual, but I’ve been double tasking between that and Noise complaint, so it took me a bit longer than usual to publish this one :)</p><p>I just finished typing the end of the first arc of this story (we are not there yet, publishing wise, still a few more chapters to go), and from now on, my plans are a bit blurry for this story, so it might take me some more time to get chapters out, as I need to figure out plot for the next arc.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 4: Don’t leave me</span>
</h1>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 42 of the New Surian Calendar - Spring</span>
  </em>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>The spell shivered and died out, the threads falling to the floor and disappearing before even touching it, as the stone old Gregor had given him broke in his hand. The columns of the hall loomed over his small form, along with those weird people in long cloaks that shimmered. The stone door behind him was still slowly shutting, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang</span>
  </em>
  <span> it made when it finally closed was as loud as the beat of his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to admit, I’m impressed you even made it this far," an old man raised his eyebrows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked kind, in a way Eddy didn’t expect from the people who captured his sister then his best friend. His belly had the roundness of a man who enjoyed the simple pleasures of life, and his white mustache shook when he spoke. The light in his eyes, though, was shroud when he examined the eleven-year-old boy in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t make the artifact," he stated. “But you threaded that discretion spell yourself, didn’t you? It was really bad, but somehow effective enough to let you pass through the door without anybody noticing."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddy didn’t answer, but half of the reason was the paralyzing fear running through his veins, keeping his tongue heavy in his mouth, and his heart beating in his throat. He wanted to throw up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could hear music coming down from everywhere around him. The other adults surrounding the old man speaking all had an instrument in their hands, and there was something in the air, some kind of spark he could almost taste on the tip of his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Brett? Where’s my sister?" his voice came out meeker than he would have liked, but in some way still petulant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man frowned, but before he could open his mouth, a woman with dark skin and curly hair chirped in, clapping her hands. She was very pretty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re Belle Chen’s little brother! No wonder!" she saw the quizzical look on the round man’s face and elaborated. “You don’t know her, Master Omon, she’s an attack. This one is probably going to be a good melomage too, if he’s anything like his sister."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And is this Brett the child we took in a few weeks ago? The violin one? You two do seem to share an ethnic background."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>take him in,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> you kidnapped him!" Eddy snapped. “Your men came into the school and stole him away! I was there, I saw everything!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another man whose eyebrows were thick enough that his eyes almost disappeared under them clicked his tongue in his palate and shook his head with an irritated exhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t have time for this childish drama, there is a war to be won and people to protect. Since you know his sister, Master Deauclaire, you’re in charge of finding a dorm for him. Your first class will be in a few days with the other kids, boy. I hope in the future you will learn to thread better spells than the one you tried to sneak in with."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young woman named Deauclaire nodded and the other adults turned their back on him and left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi. I’m Rose, but you’ll have to call me Master Deauclaire. Is your name Eddy?" she tried to take him by the hand, but he snatched it from her grasp with a defiant look. “You know, that was pretty stupid of you to even try and sneak inside this Tower, the magic at the door will unravel any spell, no matter how powerful,“ she sighed as she turned to her left and stopped by the stairs curling against the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>White steps that climbed up and up and up; Eddy couldn’t even see where they stopped, if they ever stopped. He gaped but Master Deauclaire wasn’t waiting for him, already starting the ascension before she turned to him, on the fourth step, with a sad glint in her brown eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You won’t get out for a long, long time. I’m not sure this Brett guy was worth the trouble."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He is,“ he mumbled under his breath, and climbed on the first step of the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brett didn’t remember a time he had been unhappy to see Eddy. For as long as he could remember, he had always been there in the periphery of his vision, this tiny kid with teeth too large and a shy smile, following him everywhere. But he had never minded, it was all he had ever known for the first twelve years of his life. Whenever he looked back, his best friend was there, and every time it brought a smile to his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now- now he was freaking livid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are an idiot," he spat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His childhood friend avoided his glare, left hand over his right elbow in a protective gesture, but kept the same stubborn pout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of all the places you could have followed me to, this one was the very last- Eddy, why are you so- I don’t even-" he huffed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you even know what this Tower is? What about your mom? She’s all alone now!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His friend’s lips quivered, his eyes glistened, but he still refused to answer and Brett threw his hands up in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did you even come here if you won’t talk to me? You know what? Since you’re ignoring me, I’ll ignore you too, don’t even speak to me anym- No- Eddy, don’t cry-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had no idea such a thing as an irritated hug existed, but he found himself giving one anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I still want to kill you, just so you know," he commented into his best friend’s hair, stroking his back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was pretty sure he was being manipulated by the little shit - he had always been a bit weak for tears - but his anger wasn’t worth letting Eddy be miserable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry," his best friend finally mumbled in his chest. “I was just-  They took Belle already. I couldn’t let them take- take you, I couldn’t- I would have never forgiven myself."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what did you think would happen?" he sighed, the burnt of his anger had passed but the irritation still simmered. He untangled himself from the other’s arms and grabbed him by the shoulders. “That you would barge in here like a hero and save me? This magic- I’ve seen what these guys can do, Eddy. It’s crazy. How- How did you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>in here?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Old- Old Gregor helped me," his friend hiccuped and dried his tears. “He showed me some- some stuff and gave me a magical stone, but it’s broken now. I think it made me invisible, but I’m- it didn’t really help. In the end. I tried to sneak in with adults going inside but when I passed the big door at the entrance, the stone broke and stopped working and they could all see me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brett could barely believe that this was real. That his childhood friend was there in front of him, after all the trouble he had gone through to be sure they didn’t catch him when Brett had been the one responsible for attracting the attention of the Tower on them. But some tiny, very selfish part of him was glad to see him, glad not to be alone in this foreign place where strange people in sparkling clothes could do things he had never believed were possible before just with their instruments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, since you’re here now, it would be stupid to be separated again," Brett held out his hand. “Let’s make a promise to stay together until we can find a way to escape."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddy sniffed and nodded determination. They shook hands with too much solemnity for the children they were, but that promise was the one thing that would keep them going for the years to come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a strange place to be, the Tower.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were more than three hundred people there, between the masters, the defense melomages, the attacks that were still under eighteen and couldn’t fight at the front, and all the children and young ones under fifteen who hadn’t been sorted yet. Sometimes adults in green and red uniforms would visit too, discuss with the masters, and give sharp orders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But despite the number of people crawling in the stone prison, one only saw the same hundred of faces all day, because apart from the masters and the higher-ups, each section was separated and submitted to very strict no-communication rules. Everybody was going around with clothes unlike anything they had seen before. It was all light in colors, pastel as if to not disturb the eye, to not create a distraction other than the music. The most noteworthy articles were the jewels adorning the neck, wrists, and ears of every person, regardless of age or gender. Glowing with magic every once in a while. And the shimmer on the clothes too. Even if pale in color, it was threaded in protections. As if on rippling water, light ran on the fabric, giving a shine that didn’t come from this world.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes they didn’t know how to feel about being stuck there, and they almost felt guilty when they found themselves enjoying their time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because they had been brought to the Tower against their will, they couldn’t leave, they couldn’t see their families, they had little to no choice in their schedule. They had no private life, either, as they noticed when one of the masters asked them who was Old Gregor. And they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> nobody had been around when they had talked about it - they refused to answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the other hand they were doing what they loved best: </span>
  <em>
    <span>playing the violin. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And they could do magic with it! Magic more impressive than anything shown in magitoons or comics. And every time a blue or red thread shimmered into existence, a strange elation was taking up their bodies, hearts shivering and smiles cheating their way on their lips. Eddy also found his sister again and he had cried in her arms even longer than he had in Brett’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t supposed to, though. Since she had been sorted already, Belle couldn’t interact with them but Master Deauclaire had taken pity on the siblings and with Master Omon’s permission, had allowed them one afternoon together. Eddy had come out of the room beaming, and a scroll hidden under his sleeve. As she had slid it there under the guise of a hug, Belle had had the same smile she gave him when he was eight and they played music in secret behind their parents’ backs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brett and Eddy had tried to decipher it, sneaking into each other’s dorms at night, but it was way above their current level and Brett quickly lost interest in all the theory. However, Eddy was stubborn and with stubbornness came persistence. If well made, this spell would allow him to pass right under the higher-ups’ or Masters’ nose to see his sister.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They still hadn’t given up on escaping either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within the Tower, they weren’t so different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were used to people giving them weird glances, or schoolmates commenting on their skin color, on their eye shape, on their nose and hair, or everything that made them stand out, amid all the white skin and blond hair of the Surian population.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there, everyone was different. They had seen dozens of people with the same features as them - some were even the same age, like Hyung or Toni. Master Deauclaire had the darkest skin they had ever seen, Sophie the palest, and with everybody that lived there, they had seen every in-between shade of skin color. The accents were as varied; Viktor rolled every “r”, Master Swabendich had a harshness to his tone, Sanza had a lilt to her voice, and everybody spoke of words and culture they had never heard of before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody cared, they were all different but their main means of communication was music anyway. In a very strange way, they started to feel like they belonged to this group of mismatched people from all over the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It has been explained, in a history lesson that Brett wasn’t listening to, too busy doodling all over Eddy’s notes, that the Ancients who had built this tower two thousands of years ago had fled Surie when it was invaded by barbarians. The barbarians that were now Surie’s inhabitants. So when the Tower had been awakened by the Emperor, it had entered in resonance with every one of the Ancients’ descendants, scattered over the continent, awakening their magic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The higher-ups had made sure to gather every single one they could find.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 42 of the New Surian calendar - Winter</span>
  </em>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>Master Omon had been really kind to him when Eddy found himself a new member of the Tower at eleven years old. Surely he pitied the small kid that had come to rescue his sister and his best friend and found himself trapped instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you two </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing </span>
  </em>
  <span>again? Do you want to kill yourself? Get off that window at once!” he snapped once he saw them both pushing against a window on the 16th floor after trying to smash their violin cases against the glass to break it open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed both of them by their collars, dragging them to a detention room with surprising strength for someone his age.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because Master Omon had stopped being so nice after catching the two childhood friends sneaking to the attack section or trying to run away from the Tower at least twice a week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The advantage of spending so long copying music and magic theory in detention rooms was that, at one point, they had written down at least eight times everything of their level. They ended up being handed scrolls and books above their grade, in an effort to at least educate them further, since detention never deterred them from getting into trouble. So the masters supervising the boys were not suspicious when Eddy harassed them with very specific, discretion-spell-threading-oriented questions that he shouldn’t even have asked when in his first year of melomage training.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few months later, he managed to thread the spell on the scroll his sister had given him for the first time. It lasted a full minute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brett and Eddy used this minute to dance around and howl in joy in their dorm. Finally some freedom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 43 of the New Surian calendar - Summer</span>
  </em>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>Sometimes, Eddy would stop by the windows of the staircase, and stare at the city unfolding before him. His gaze would take a forlorn glint and guilt would eat Brett alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t lost control that day and let his rage ruin their lives, the Tower would never have spotted them. If he hadn’t been there, If he hadn’t been taken, Eddy would never have followed him here. He wouldn’t be longing for his family, for the outside world, all because of Brett.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swore in his head he would make it up to him. He would be the best of the best friends ever, he would not leave Eddy alone, he would never let those higher-ups separate them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Eddy? Do you want to try the Spohr violin duet again?” he nudged him, forcing mirth into his voice. “We definitely need the practice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would be cheerful for the both of them, whenever needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other kid turned to him and blinked, almost owlishly. His eyes scrutinized Brett’s too bright grin and finally nodded with a small smile of his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The discretion spell still wasn’t strong enough to allow them to breach the separation between sections, as they discovered when the alarm blared and the spell shattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were so used to it by now, they dragged themselves to the detention room before being even asked to when they saw Master Swabendich run down the corridor toward them, his eyebrows at such an angle they couldn’t even see his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you even find us? I mean, how do you know who’s a melomage, amongst everybody?” Eddy asked, with a strange intent to his voice. The one he had when he was trying to prove a point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brett was yawning, sprawled over his desk, there was so much he could be doing instead of this, like practice. Meanwhile, his best friend was still writing the theory they had been asked to copy, like the good nerd he was. But even that wouldn’t deter him from harassing adults with questions when he was curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, there are people like your friend who stupidly out themselves by making fountains blow up, but other than that, screening spells are enough most of the time. There is some sort of resonance between the Tower and children who have the potential of becoming melomages. The further from the capital, the harder to find they are though. And the Emperor still puts a limit on the age of the children we can take. They have to be above twelve years old, no matter their resonance.“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been here since I’m eleven!” Eddy gaped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>walked </span>
  </em>
  <span>in here! You idiot,“ Brett grumbled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough chit chat now. Go back to work, you two,” Master Swabendich grunted, his eyebrows doing a menacing wiggle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You see? Even if you hadn’t lost it that day, or even if I hadn’t followed you, they would still have found me,” Eddy told him, as they were cozy behind the discretion spell and the darkness of the night, sitting on the bed. The other kids in Brett’s dorm slept soundly, unaware of the midnight confabulation.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spell lasted long enough to allow them to have entire discussions now, hidden from the eyes of the masters and the higher-ups.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wha-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you’re feeling guilty. About me being here. You don’t have to now, I would have ended up in the Tower anyway, you heard Master Swabendich? And even if that wasn’t like that, it was my choice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>chose to come here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>walked in here, and it’s all on me. Not on you. You’ve always done everything to protect me. Yes, I’m sad I can’t see my mother anymore, that I can’t go out and play when I want it, that I still can’t see my sister, but I’m not angry at you, Brett. I won’t, and you shouldn’t be angry at yourself either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His throat clogged up, but he refused to indulge in the tears that wanted to roll down his cheeks. How could he have thought Eddy wouldn’t notice? That he could fool him with bright smiles? When he had always been an open book for his best friend who loved to read.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t deserve you sometimes,” he whispered into his folded arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you think I followed you here? I’m the one who’s lost without you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll stay best friends forever?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>Since it couldn’t be used to meet with Belle in the attack section, they found another use for the discretion spell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was this door, under the stairs of the main hall, that had always attracted Eddy’s curiosity, just to the right of the one leading down to the laboratories. Nobody ever went in there, nobody talked about it,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing, it’s an empty room on a dirt floor,“ Master Deauclaire had sighed when he had asked her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But spells still protected the entrance, and why would they be there if there was nothing to see?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we can escape there,“ he had whispered excitedly to Brett. “I think my discretion spell’s strong enough to pass the protections.“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s try it tonight then!“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had both frowned in disappointment after going down the few steps that hid behind the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It really was just an empty room on a dirt floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we can dig a tunnel and escape there,“ Brett mumbled, stepping further inside, feet nudging one of the cracks running through the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then it hit them. Sound waves. Pulsing inside of them, music running instead of blood, their ears ringing and heart speeding up. It had felt dangerous, terrifying, and they had run away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They never went back to the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe we’re breaking the rules by sneaking into the </span>
  <em>
    <span>library</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This is so lame,” Brett muttered while rubbing his tired eyes behind his glasses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does it make you feel better that this is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>restricted</span>
  </em>
  <span> area of the library?” Eddy answered without even looking up from his book. “And you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come with me you know, just tell me and next time I can go on my own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As if.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a fleeting touch on his arm and a smile on his best friend’s lips. A silent thank you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are we looking for </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You were pretty vague when you dragged me out of bed,” Brett asked while getting a random scroll from a shelf.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything that you wouldn’t understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I take it back, I’m not helping you anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They shared a look and started snickering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More seriously, I think anything that looks like advanced defense melomage stuff,” Eddy hummed, closing the book in his hands with a sigh. “And also I’m starting to think I’m not playing the right piece to thread my discretion spell, so if you find any research paper about the influence of tempo and dynamic on the tightness of the threads, I’m interested.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like how there’s not a single doubt you’ll be sorted into the defense section. You might as well ask the higher-ups to go there right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And be separated from all of our friends? Tell the Masters I can thread a discretion spell so they can reinforce their barriers? No way. Plus this spell is, like, the only thing I do really well, all the rest is merely average.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right. Me, I’m pretty sure I’ll be an attack.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No doubt about it. But maybe we should try to run away from here before any of that happens. I don’t want you or Belle to be sent fighting. And for that, I really need to have a better spell, so I really need for you to stop talking and start reading.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brett rolled his eyes but obeyed. Eddy was right, finding a way around those barriers, having privacy, getting out of here, it was important. And reading tiny characters, locked up in the library in the middle of the night when they could have raided the kitchens, slept, or even played instead was worth it.</span>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 43 of the New Surian calendar - End of Autumn</span>
  </em>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>“I knew you would do it!” Belle giggled with a grin so big it almost split her face. “I was sure between you and Brett, you would figure it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddy beamed, shoved his violin case into Brett’s hands, and ran into his sister’s arms for the second time in five years.</span>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 44 of the New Surian calendar - Winter</span>
  </em>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>Eddy melted into his best friend’s embrace. The other was talking to him, whispering comforting nonsense he could barely hear above his sobs. He tried to breathe but his nose was runny and he only managed ugly sniffles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all so unfair. He had only been able to see her for a year, the shortest year, and she had been taken away from him again. He had been so sure they would be able to run away, the three of them together. But the cart had left already, carrying Belle so far away from him. And he would still be there, stuck to the eastern window staring at the place he had last seen his sister if Brett hadn’t forcefully removed him from there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll find her, Eddy. I promise we’ll find her again,” he heard, whispered against his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head and tightened his grip on Brett’s shirt. It was covered in snot and tears. He was tired of being a cry baby, of being useless, of only being able to tear up when things didn’t go as he wanted them to. He was thirteen already, he was supposed to be strong, he was not a child anymore. But there he was, clinging to his childhood friend like his life depended on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t leave me,” he choked, unsure of how clear his voice was, strangled and wobbly. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you leave me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was an intake of breath from above him and a pause a little too long. Brett’s tone was strange when he answered, but he was hugged more firmly against the other’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t. I’ll do everything I can so we’re not separated. We promised, didn’t we? And even if they try, you’ll manage to follow me. You’re smart Eddy, you’ll find a way. I trust you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I trust you too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a shiver in the air around them, then glimmers. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a blue thread fall on the floor. The discretion spell had broken. It was no surprise, he was so devastated when he had snuck into Brett’s dorm, his playing had been shaky, his focus all over the place as he had threaded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waited for the other kids to shoo him back to his own door, to tell them to shut up, for a master to barge into the room and send him to his own bed. But nothing happened. He was left free of crying into his best friend's arms all night long and didn’t question it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if in the next few weeks, Master Omon looked at him with the same kindness and pity he had the first time eleven years old Eddy had been trembling in front of him, in the hall of the Tower, it didn’t last anyway. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Musicographie:</p><p>Spohr duet for two violins in D minor Op.18 No.4</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I hope you liked the boys shenanigans From their younger years!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Dear Eddy (I’m sorry)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here’s the next letter, I’m sorry.</p><p>(Thank you Ria for the beta reading &lt;3)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Dear Eddy (I’m sorry): </span>
</h1><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>9th of September, 51</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>If you ever replied to my last letter, I’m sorry,</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I haven’t read it.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Remember when I told you I took down a dragon with your sister? </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>This was the biggest mistake of my life.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>As it turns out, dragons are not the untamable, wild creatures we thought they were. They form this unique bond with a human and the two of them can actually talk with each other via telepathy and shit. A dragon and its mate choose each other when they’re really little, then grow up together. They’re like best friends.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I would have been excited learning about it, if it hadn’t been under these conditions.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>There is this knight, Engelberta, she was in my squad. I learned she actually was a Bellanian spy. Crazy right? </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>And guess what? She was the mate of the dragon I killed.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>So, here’s the thing. She blew up her cover when she learned the peace treaty was going to happen and kidnapped me. She doesn’t want peace, she thinks the meeting in the valley is just a trap we are setting. She isn’t exactly my biggest fan, so it makes sense why I would be the one she would be unhesitatingly killing to prove her point.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>The fact that she asked me for last wishes doesn’t dwell well with me. I told her I wanted to write you a letter and she gave me a pen and paper, said it was right that my last words would be for my husband. I didn’t even have the heart to get irritated. Can you imagine? A foreign spy dragon tamer who never even met you, all the way down the eastern border, is part of the joke too. We will never escape it. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Also, since Engelberta let me write all of this, her true identity, her name and her plans, it probably means she doesn’t care if the Tower learns about this, so don’t bother trying to warn the masters or the higher-ups, I’m sure they already know I’ve been captured by now. And either they can’t do anything about it, or they just don’t care. It won’t change anything anyway. I don’t know if she’s acting on her own or if the Bellanian army is backing her up, I haven’t seen anybody but her since I’ve been taken. I don’t know where I am, and even if I did, she wouldn’t let me write it down here, so, yeah.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>She took my earring and my violin, so I don’t have the comfort of playing, or even curl up in your stupid warming spell. At least I can still feel you’re alive and well - if stressed beyond measure, but I’ve gotten used to it by now.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I’ve never been more sorry for something than I am for taking down her dragon. Not only am I in deep shit because of this but I actually feel bad about it. I mean, I can only imagine the rage I would be in if someone killed you. If you ever have to live through this, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never thought it would end up like this but hey, looking at the bright side, at least I can write one last thing to you. Better than being shot down by a random bullet without being able to give you any closure.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I don’t even know what I’m writing anymore. I don’t want to stop, it still feels like I’m talking to you that way. If the pen doesn't leave the paper, then I’m still speaking with you. Fuck, I sound cheesy. I’m sure you’ll be able to tell, I’m not feeling my best right now, I don’t even want to pretend, I just want to go back home. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Maybe I should stop writing but I don’t know how to finish this letter. I don’t want you to feel like I’m writing my last words, but if they are, I still want them to be significant. Damn, this is hard. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I love you, man, you know that. Even if I hate that you’re stuck in the fucking Tower, I have to confess I’m still glad you were there with me, it made the past nine years almost enjoyable at times.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>You’re probably crying as you’re reading this, you big crybaby. Don’t feel bad about it, it’s okay. This is not your fault and you’ll be okay. Just don’t do anything stupid, I’ll still try everything I can to keep my promise. So not all hope is lost.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So. I have to say, I love this fandom.</p><p>You guys are so freaking supportive I can’t believe it. I hesitated about ten times before whining about popularity difference between this and other fics, because I thought it came off as too childish and needy, and <em>This is just fanfic, it shouldn’t get to me, I’m an adult, I’ve got a whole life outside of it</em>.</p><p>But damn. All of your answers juste made me so freaking happy, I was mildly upset before, and now I’m ecstatic! Really, I’ve never enjoyed reading and answering comments so much before, and I’ve been writing original fiction and fan fiction for more than ten years now (don’t look for the old ones, they’re all in French anyway).</p><p>I’ve answered to everyone individually, but I still thought I should make a point of saying to all of you how much every word meant, and how happy I am :) so, huh, yeah, I guess angst wasn’t the best way to thank everybody but, yeah, sorry about that, it wasn’t planned xD </p><p>I’ve inspiration today, and a three hours train ride tomorrow, so the next chapter shouldn’t take as much to come as this one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 5: The first violin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Music is their first love, their first gift, their first curse.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here’s chapter 5 :) I really enjoyed writing this, especially since I don’t write about kids a lot, so it was interesting to go dig into their childhood, and finally I had some time to delve a bit into their relationship with Belle. I especially like some of the OCs I introduced in this chapter.</p><p>Thank you Ria for beta reading this, as always :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 5: The first violin</span>
</h1><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 35 of the New Surian calendar - Spring</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>There wasn’t a lot they remembered from their younger years, when their names were still Weicheng and Boyao, when Belle went by Jiabei but both of them just called her big sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell of sea and iodine. Playing together in the tall and thin trees around a never-ending house. An old lady plucking strings from an unfamiliar instrument, watching over them as she sat on a wooden porch. Different clothes, different faces, different sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then a boat. For days and days and days. Just a boat, the ocean, and their two families. The cries of seagulls, the waves hitting the hull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy was four when they arrived in Prass, Brett was five.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t remember, but their parents had told them. The foreign country where nobody spoke their language. Where their neighbors would frown at them in the streets. Where the shop owners would sigh when they would go grocery shopping, reading themselves for another awkward interaction. Their houses had been near each other but with the time their two families spent together, they might as well have been living under the same roof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had been told about their first-ever day of school. Belle mostly laughed while recounting how bad it had been. How she had been called in the middle of her class when she was just nine years old because her little brother was making a scene. How loud they had both been crying when the teachers had tried to put them in different classes, holding onto each other like there would be no tomorrow and yelling they wouldn’t be separated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken much persuasion, the promise of candies from their home country Belle had smuggled in her room and vague threats about unhappy their mother would be to hear about the scandal at school to have Eddy reluctantly let go of Brett’s shirt and arm. They kept sobbing the whole morning, though, each in their own class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making friends had been the hardest. Nobody wanted to talk to them because of how different they looked and it didn’t help that they barely could speak Surian at the time, sliding back to their mother tongue at every chance. So they had clung to what they knew; their families and each other. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lao Ang</span>
  </em>
  <span> some people would whisper and when they had asked their parents if this was where they came from, the - </span>
  <em>
    <span>never -</span>
  </em>
  <span> that came from Mrs. Chen’s mouth was so acidic, they never asked again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was around that time they started to follow Belle around during every school recess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was around that time they discovered music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because the place Eddy’s sister kept disappearing to was an old music room at the back of their school, where an out of tune piano stood in a corner. The teacher just made the children learn to sing the national anthem and called it a music class, but she had softly harassed him until he gave in and taught her the basics of piano playing. So, instead of trying to talk to their peers, the two kids would find every opportunity to sit in the opposite corner of the room, on the floor, and listen in awe to the sound Eddy’s big sister was producing on the instrument. They had never heard anything like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a poster, on the wall of the music room, frayed at the corner, with western instruments displayed on it, color-coded by category. Belle would read aloud the names written at the bottom of the instruments for them - slowly, mouth and brain still unsure around the unfamiliar characters of this new country. They would sit in reverence and stare at them, wondering how they would be played, what kind of sound they would produce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would dream about it, sometimes. And tell each other excitedly about how the instruments had worked in their imagination when morning came and they left for school with Belle. The Tower shadowing houses in the background.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 35 of the New Surian calendar - Winter</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>With twinkles in her eyes - the same ones Eddy had - Belle had asked them if they wanted to hear something cool. They had nodded so hard they had been dizzy. She had disappeared from the music room they had been hiding in and came back with a dozen shining orbs in her shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was this man, his gift was to put his memories into glass spheres, and his wife loved music,” she had whispered to them in their mother tongue with the intonation of a storyteller. “So he traveled all around Surie, before the war, and even beyond to see everything he could. Every time he came across a music performance, he would store it in those spheres and then he came back to his wife to give all of them to her. In my class, they say this man’s wife was the headmistress. I don’t know if this is true but I found those in the teachers’ office so I don’t think it’s totally a lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had grabbed their little hands, chubby fingers so small compared to hers, and stuck it against the cold glass of one of the orbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They could hear, like resonating from inside their mind; they could see, like engraved behind their eyelids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an explosion of sounds, nothing like the slow plucking of strings from the old lady on the porch of the previous Chen house, nothing like the simple melodies Belle would play on the piano. It was fast and brilliant and passionate and </span>
  <em>
    <span>so loud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. All the instruments of the poster were playing together and even in their imagination, they had never thought such a feat was possible. And that man. The man at the front with the small piece of wood - violin, Eddy remembered - the music came out of him, and each movement of his hands brought a new wave of sound that shook their soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it all faded off and the only thing in front of them was Belle in the music room, a smile on her lips, slightly blurry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re crying, little brother,” she whispered, drying his tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty,” Eddy only mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want that!” Brett exclaimed, jumping up and down, his voice shaking with excitement. “I want to make the music! Like the mister with the vo- the vla- the…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violin,” his best friend helpfully supplied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That! I want to do that! Same vlalolin! Same music! Eddy, you do it with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy had nodded, his cheeks still wet, his core still shook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been their first-ever experience of the Tchaikovsky violin concerto.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The obsession never went away. Every day they would touch an orb, stacked away from view in a corner of the music room and drown in the music it made them discover. Mrs. Yang relented in the face of her son’s harassment and ended up roaming Prass to buy him an old violin in an antic shop. She was an artist, she understood what it was to be devoted to a craft, the desire to make something out of your hands, even at such a young age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle and Eddy’s mother refused though, telling her children that they should focus on getting good at school, on making Prassian friends, on doing everything they could to have a chance to survive as adults in this new country permanently at war. That it was no place for musicians. But she had two stubborn kids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle kept learning the piano, in the school’s music room, going over dusty music textbooks and not caring that her form was bad, that the piano was out of tune, that her rhythm was off. At least she was making music. She had taught the two little ones, as best as she could with her few months of experience, told them what the notes were, where to put your fingers, and some simple tunes the school teacher had shown her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The violin though, that was something else. The two boys in Brett’s room stared at the foreign object in wonder. They had tried already to hold it the way they had seen in the orbs. Under your chin, with the wooden stick going back and forth over the strings, but all they had managed to do was horrible screeching sounds, ripping guffaws out of their throats until Brett’s dad barged in the room - surprisingly fast for a limping man - to take away the instrument for the sake of his evening peace. Violin wasn’t working out, but they kept experimenting with it, trying to mimic the players on the orbs and made some progress with Belle on the piano. If not very productive, it was fun and free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 36 of the New Surian calendar - Autumn</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>The war started getting serious. It was just the beginning of the alliance between the Republic of Glanne and the Bellanian Kingdom and nobody in Prass had ever seen a dragon. But there were talks of it. So the Emperor had declared conscription.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because of his bad leg, Mr. Yang stayed home with his wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s father had to leave for the border.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 37 of the New Surian calendar - Summer</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The children were out in the streets in front of the Chen home, enjoying the summer sun under the chirping of insects and the glances of the passerby. Belle was splitting with medical precision a pastry the baker had given them in three parts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Chen and Mrs. Yang came out of the house with a man in armor, the women had red-rimmed eyes and tight lips. The man tipped his head with a sorry look for the children and left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conscription was over, it had been a complete failure. Untrained civilians had stood no chance against the guns of the Republic of Glanne. The Empire put a stop to it, deciding to focus their hit force on their knights and whatever weapon they developed in the Tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Eddy’s dad never came back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 38 of the New Surian calendar - late Autumn</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>Sometimes, Eddy would ask Belle why they came here. What was the point of leaving their home country, where everything he could remember had been the waves crashing on the shore, fresh trees, wooden houses and playing on the grass under the slow plucking of strings? Why they had to settle in this place that had taken their dad, where their faces were different from everybody else, where the grey hairs on their mother’s head seemed to multiply by the days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They had their reasons,” she would answer with all the wisdom of a twelve-year-old. “You were small, you don’t remember, things weren’t as perfect as you think on our island.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded with what he hoped was a smart look, but he didn’t really understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle was too old to stay in the same school as them now, she would have to go to another part of the city, to a school for children her age, Brett and Eddy’s mother had explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boys were alone in the music room now, huddled against each other since the wind had picked up lately, getting lost on the orbs’ performances they all knew by heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had heard the Empire was taking children. Everybody knew, but there was no one to explain why - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Order of the Emperor</span>
  </em>
  <span> - the people in weird cloaks would say - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do not worry, they are wards of the Empire now. They will be treated fairly and receive special education. You will be compensated for your pain.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There were whispers, in Prass, that some children had special gifts that could be cultivated to help make even more special weapons for the war, but people mostly avoided the subject. It was rare after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the two kids came back from school, one day, and asked where Belle was, they were only met by Mrs. Chen’s sobs and the very strict interdiction of </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing music again. No more talking about it, no more listening to it, and certainly no more playing. Piano or violin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something shifted after that. Mrs. Chen started closing in on herself more and more, she would avoid every question and even started to close her door to the Yang couple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dropped her son at school herself, was waiting in front of the gate as soon as the last class was over, took him with her even for the smallest grocery shopping outing, and sometimes, in the middle of the night, she would enter her son’s bedroom and watch him sleep, as if to check he was still there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy learned it from Brett, in hushed whispers, during a school recess - </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s the Tower who took Belle, my mom told me. We won’t see her again - </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the boy started hating that looming building casting shadows over their lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They jumped and Brett almost dropped the violin he had smuggled into the old music room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music teacher was standing in the doorway. He looked tired. He always looked tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t keep playing here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But our moms won’t let us play at home!” Brett complained while Eddy’s heart was beating out of his chest, tongue heavy, and hands sweating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the teacher told his mother he was still trying to learn the violin in secret, it would be over for him, she would probably even pull him out of school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re right. You should stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we want to learn!” his best friend kept forging ahead, uncaring of the consequences of his insolence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man pinched his nose and exhaled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two are exactly as stubborn as your sister. I swear I don’t know why you want to play an instrument, it’s not as if my classes were trying to give you any love of music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s sweaty hand grabbed his best friend’s one for support, gathering all his courage, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his palate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not you,” he whispered, his Surian heavily accented. “The music is beautiful. The most beautiful thing in my life, I’m not giving up on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking- shit you’re kids, I shouldn’t swear in front of kids. You’re just seven years old. You don’t know what you want from life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I want that,” there was a stubborn angle to his jaw, and Brett nodded by his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sigh heavier than any sigh they had ever heard and the teacher scratched his stubbled chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell your mothers you two need math tutoring,” Brett and Eddy looked at each other in confusion. “Go to the third house on the street behind the school, the one with the red roof, when classes are over. Tell the man who’ll open the door that Noah is sending you. If you want to learn the fucki- I mean, if you want to learn the violin, might as well do it properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll teach us how to play?” Eddy squeaked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe. Now, get out of my classroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett put the instrument back into its case and they scrambled out of the room. They were almost out when the man’s face took a melancholic shade, which was the only emotion other than tired they had ever seen on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those orbs your sister stole…” the boys stopped under the wistful tone. “They don’t belong to the headmistress. The man who traveled the world to gather music… He didn’t have a wife, he had a husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they yours?” Eddy whispered, with a pang he didn’t understand in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out of my classroom,” the teacher only repeated, a bitter smile on his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man in the house with the red roof was called Gregor, and he was very, very old. But even under the white beard, even with no hairs on his head, even with his features sagged by the weight of years, they knew who it was immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the man!!” Brett had yelled. “You’re the man playing the violin! On the orb! It’s you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Old Gregor had a thick accent; he came from the Rangan Empire, west of Surie, and it was the country where Tchaikovsky was born, they learned. He did everything with passion. He yelled at them with passion when they screwed up, he clapped with passion when they nailed a passage, he even made tea with passion, grumbling in Rangan under his beard all the while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man was alone, nobody ever talked to him, and something in Eddy fluttered in fear. Was this how it would be for them? Would nobody ever accept them because they were strangers to this city?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have each other,” Old Gregor had said in a booming voice when Eddy had expressed his concerns. “Stop being whiny and be glad for your friend!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three times a week, after school, they would go to the house, and Eddy’s inside churned when his mother asked how math tutoring was. He hated lying. But music was worth it. It was worth everything. Old Gregor was incredible, they learned more in a few months with him than in the years before. He told them about all the different music they had seen in the orbs, about all the instruments, about interpretation, and bowing, and vibrato, and everything they could want to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did this weird thing, sometimes, where he would take stones covered in carvings, and place them at random places of the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody will hear you but me,” he had told them, but they hadn’t understood, just felt a shiver go down their spine. “Never play outside of this house, or you will not know freedom again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strange things would happen when they played sometimes. Bursts of colors from the corner of their eyes that would disappear as soon as they tried to focus on it, a power pulsing inside of their bodies, carried by the melody.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 42 of the New Surian Calendar - Spring</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Between the two of them, Eddy was the crier. Whenever something bad happened, he would run to Brett and bawl his eyes out in his shirt, tears flowing until he felt empty enough to think again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But today, today Brett was the one crying - </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s so unfair!</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he kept saying between angry hiccups; snot and tears on the sleeves he tried to dry his face with. His glasses were so wet and dirty he could barely see anything, but he was blinded enough by rage it made no difference.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their parents had discovered everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They could never go back to Old Gregor’s house again, his violin had been taken away, the tired music teacher had been fired from the school for lying about the math tutoring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some distant part of him knew Eddy was trying to talk to him but the smashing of the keys was too loud. The old piano had never sounded more out of tune as Brett’s hands crashed against it. Pent up anger. And he was pissed. So pissed. So pissed!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t hear past his ire - the dissonant chords - he couldn’t see past his fury - the tears smearing his glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there was red coming out of his sound, there was Eddy screaming. He didn’t notice. They had taken his violin away from him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>it was so unfair</span>
  </em>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fountain in the schoolyard exploded.</span>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/><br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>He jumped away from the piano. His senses coming back to him one by one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath was short, his heart was a trapped bird in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brett, Brett you did this…” Eddy was whispering next to him, voice hoarse from screaming. He was crying too now.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He did this? Did he do this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his friend was running to him, hugging him for all he was worth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s happening to us, Brett?” he sobbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was yelling outside the room, steps coming closer, and Brett pushed back Eddy, pushed him until his ass fell on the bottom of the closet where the orbs were hidden and closed the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the group of cloaked people asked him if he was alone, he answered yes. When they asked him if he knew anyone else playing an instrument, he answered no. When they asked if he had learned on his own, he answered yes. When they asked if anyone knew about him, he answered no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he was taken away.</span>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His tiny fist was banging on the door of the house with the red roof, and he was so, so scared he wouldn’t get an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to help me!” Eddy yelled. “They took him! You have to help me, please!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door finally opened to reveal the somber face of old Gregor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you not to play outside this house,” he growled. “You little brats never listen! Get in and stop yelling in the street!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door hadn’t even closed behind him before he was speaking again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You told me- You told me I should stop whining because we had each other. But he’s gone now, Belle is too, and I can’t- I can’t. I need to get them back. Please!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words were tumbling out of his mouth, and he couldn’t remember the argument with old Gregor, just the tears and the sheer fright of losing Brett too, after losing Belle, after losing his father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will teach you something,” the old man finally declared. “Something new with a violin. But you have to know, this will end badly for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And to break inside the Tower and get his sister and his best friend back, Eddy learned his very first discretion spell.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here it is :) Sorry for those who are frustrated with the last letter and just want to see how they get out of this situation, but hey, at least it’s a reprieve from the angst.</p><p>The chapters will be a bit slower to come from now on, because I’m done with the letters, so most of the installment of this are quiet long, I would say it takes me around five days if I’m not writing anything else, and a week or more if I write some one shots in between. </p><p>Thank you everybody for the love, support and comments &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Dear Mom (I love you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Don’t be angry at me, don’t cry. Stay strong Mom. Thank you for raising us. Thank you for all. Thank you for protecting us. I love you Mom.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, sorry for the very long delay. Life has been busy and it took me forever to write the next chapter, I had some sort of small writer block, but I passed by it today and finally made some progress.<br/>I’m sorry that after all the delay, all I’m giving you is a very very short letter. Barely any content :/ but the next few chapters are heavy and thick plot and emotion wise, so they’ll make it up :)</p><p><b>The bad grammar is on purpose. Eddy isn’t used to write in Angish and hasn’t spoken it in years</b> (Kind of how TwoSet speak Mandarin, they use a very simple vocabulary and copy paste English grammar unto Chinese sentences.)</p><p>Thank you Ria for the beta reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Dear Mom (I love you): </span>
</h1><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>14th of September, 51</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Hey Mom, it is me, your son. I am sorry, I can’t speak to you in the face, it is too dangerous for you, and I do not have the entire time. This letter is I think safe, because first, it will be delivered in person and second, I don’t think anybody here knows how to read Angish. I hope you’re proud I still know how to write and speak it, even after so many years with only people speaking Surian. Please don’t be angry as the grammar is not too good.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I am sorry I leave like that, the day Boyao was taken. I am sorry I leave you alone. But if it makes you feel better in a little way, they will have found me no matter what, I would have been taken from you, whatever happen. I had a lot of time to think about it in the Tower and it is weird that you know when we were little children that it was because of the music. How do you know they take us because we play music? Do you know melomages? I am so curious, but I can’t speak with you now. No time.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>A lot happen. I need to leave Prass.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>There is something I need to do, and it is outside of the Tower, outside of Prass. I need to save Jiabei, I need to save Boyao, at the border. They are all in a lot of danger, and Boyao is kidnapped by enemy and I have to go there. You too, run away from Surie, take the Yang family with you and run, Surie is bad. I will find you after, I swear, Mom. I will find you, and you and Jiabei and I will be together again, and the Yangs will see their son again, and it will be like before.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>There is something crazy I will try, I think it is very dangerous but if I success it I will be out of the Tower for the first time. If I success, I will put this letter in white envelope and at the time you read this, I am outside of Prass, running to East border. If I don’t, a friend will help and the letter is in black envelope, it means you can mourn. I know you will be angry with me for being stupid and risk my life, but I can’t not try, it can’t not do anything with what happens at the East. I’ll do anything.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Whatever, success or no success, I love you Mom, and I miss you, all those years, I miss you. Jiabei miss you too, I know. You take care, you stay well, and get away from Surie. I want to write more, to tell you more, but my Angish is not good enough for that.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Don’t be angry at me, don’t cry. Stay strong. Thank you for raising us. Thank you for all. Thank you for protecting us. I love you, Mom.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <h1>
<br/><br/><br/><br/>
</h1>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Weicheng</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading this very short thing :)</p><p>I have no idea when the next chapter will come since I’m a bit slow in my writing lately, but please stick with me :D</p><p>Have an extract from the next chapter as an apology for the slow updates and short chapter.</p><p> </p><p>The mountains towered over them, snowy peaks and green pines leaving way to grey rocks and red dirt at the bottom, the glint of the exploding gems littering the valley, and what a beautiful deathbed it would have been.</p><p>“Eddy…” his best friend whispered, disbelief tainting his tone.</p><p>“Brett.”</p><p>“You’ve got to stop following me around in dangerous places.”</p><p>“I don’t think I can.”</p><p>“You could get killed.”</p><p>“Better than being alone.”</p><p>His sister elbowed him in the stomach and he winced.</p><p>“I did it for you too, no need to be so violent,” he mumbled.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 6 : Missing and Finding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They miss each other, behind the stones of the Tower and in the dark of a cave.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to pure angst, I almost published this two days ago, but in the mean time I got stuck trying to cross a half-broken wooden bridge with a motorcycle and a quad under a storm raging while on a motorcycle ride in the forest with my best friend (no joke - I almost fell on the river after slipping on the wet bridge, pushing the quad, and the wheel of the motorcycle rolled on my foot). So I got a bit distracted, and only remembered today to post the chapter. </p><p>Thank you Ria for the wonderful beta reading!</p><p>Enjoy this :)</p><p>(Also, there’s a Chinese version available now, the link is the Note of the first chapter)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Chapter 6: Missing and finding</h1><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <em> Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 14th </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>The letter crinkled between her fingers. Such a small item. A paper, some ink, and carrier of the world’s greatest pain if it ever met its desired public. </p><p>She could still remember this eleven years old boy, barging inside the Tower, shaking with fear, surrounded by stone columns and even more stony adults, but standing straight, not bending until they told him where his <em> best friend and his sister were </em>. </p><p>She could remember the tears when they had reunited, the hugs, and the promises.</p><p>She could remember being dragged out of bed one night out of three because someone had to go punish the kids <em> again </em> for sneaking around together, the mulish look on their face when they were sent back to their respective dorms, only to start again less than forty hours later.</p><p>She could remember a bond stronger than she had ever seen, inside this Tower where no higher-up, no master had succeeded in separating the two souls. </p><p>And now, the war may have accomplished what they had all failed to do. </p><p>She could still go back, she could still pretend, she could still just turn around and not get involved anymore in this bond stretching over miles and miles. She knew she wasn’t supposed to share this letter they had intercepted. The ‘no-communication’ rule dangling over her head<em> - Nobody should know </em> - Master Swabendich had very explicitly stated - <em> it doesn’t matter if the attack dies, let it go, Deauclaire, there’s a lot you don’t understand </em>.</p><p>But the boy- the man she had seen growing up from a scrawny eleven years old too attached to his best friend was now looking back at her, a brilliant and smart twenty-one year old defense melomage, too attached to his best friend. And he deserved to know. He deserved to mourn and to read the last words that were intended for him and him only, not for any pair of disinterested eyes skimming through the letter, having no idea who wrote it, and who it was for. </p><p>It was all so obvious, but she hadn’t said a word, lied to the members of the Ministry of Defence for one of the first times in her life when they had asked. Masters were supposed to take their orders from the government, but she could see, sometimes, the frown on Master Omon’s face when he received new instructions, the way he tried to subtly push them back from interfering too much. She agreed - her loyalties were to the melomages, to the Tower, to the kids they had taught music to, before going to any minister.</p><p>So she didn’t say there were only two melomages in this whole country who would go to such extreme lengths for the other, only one who had killed a dragon at the border and had a crybaby for a best friend stuck in here. The government didn’t deserve to get the names from her.</p><p>“Eddy,” Rose Deauclaire said, throat tight and eyes wet. “I’m so, so sorry. I- I have something for you…”</p><p>*</p><p>He couldn’t remember anything after that letter. Just pain lacing through his body, and denial so strong he had shut off his mind.  </p><p>It wouldn’t happen. It just- It wouldn’t happen.</p><p>Master Deauclaire wasn’t even fully out of the room when he grabbed his violin and played, played anything, barely paying any attention to the music, random threads wrapping around him in a half-formed spell, lacing over him in the strangest of comfort, dancing without other purposes than to make the wristband react.</p><p>He sobbed, of sheer relief, of pain, of helplessness, when he felt a reaction, when the desperation and hurt of his best friend reached him. He was <em> alive. </em>He was hurting but alive. Eddy dug in his memories, tears still streaming down his cheeks as he brought up in his mind their evenings playing Navarra, messing around during practice, their first time hearing music with Belle, the whispers against each other’s skin during the secret hours of the night. He drowned in the love he had for his best friend and tried to send it all, to give him every positive feeling he had.</p><p><em> I love you - don’t leave me, </em>his music said.</p><p><em> I won’t </em>, was the answer coursing through his body, shaking his nerve with the fondness, the determination that wasn’t coming from him. </p><p>He grabbed everything he could, every inch of perseverance, of strength, of courage from Brett, fed from it, and when he was able to breath again, when his chest unconstricted and his lungs weren’t pressed down by the pain, he stopped the music. </p><p>There wasn’t time now. It was time to try it, whatever the consequences, none were worse than losing Brett. </p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>*</p><p>He wasn’t thinking anymore, violin case in his hand as he stumbled down the stairs. The endless, endless stairs.</p><p>Some distant part of him was oh so grateful to past Eddy for his foresight and hard work. For the small hours of the night spent bent over scrolls, research papers, and his own notes, for the experimentations and the draft of an escape plan, for everything that would help him now that his brain was overwhelmed with feelings.</p><p>“Alex! Toni!” </p><p>His friends turned to him, stopping in the middle of their discussion when they saw the state he was in.</p><p>“Eddy? What’s going on?” Toni eyed him with worry.</p><p>“Wait, let him put in the discretion spell first,” Alex reasoned. </p><p>“No time, they can hear us for all I care. It’s all over, the higher-ups intercepted a letter from Brett, it‘s only a matter of time before they figure out it was meant for me, anyway. I’m leaving,” he breathed out.</p><p>“You’re what?!”</p><p>“Eddy, what are you talking about…”</p><p>“They took- they- they took Brett. At the border. He’s gonna die if I don’t do something-”</p><p>“Wait, how do you even plan on-”</p><p>“I can’t- I can’t tell you now, please. You need to trust me.”</p><p>A hand warmed his arm through the cloth of his coat.</p><p>“It’s okay, Eddy,” Toni whispered. “We trust you, just tell us what you need us to do.”</p><p>He grabbed her hand with his own and a mix of fondness, regret, and melancholy twisted inside of him as he stared at her. She had helped him so much, had been such an important part of his life, and he had loved her. But there was still a part of him that she would never have a hold onto, and they both knew this.  </p><p>“Thank you. Thank you, I- Here, take this,” he thrust a black envelope in her hands. “If I don’t make it out of here alive, just give it to you-know-who the next time she comes, she’ll know what to do with it.”</p><p>“How would we know? If you succeed?” Alex frowned at the same time Toni gasped - <em> what do you mean </em> if <em> you make it out alive? - </em></p><p>“Here,” he took out one of his earrings. “It’ll break if I die.”</p><p>“How long have you been planning this for?” his friend frowned as he gingerly took the jewel. </p><p>“Since the day I got stuck here at eleven years old.”</p><p>“Badass,” Alex mumbled under his breath. “Do we still go on with the original plan?”</p><p>“Yeah, whatever happens, absolutely do. If this melody reaches the border, it’s over, for peace, for our friends, for the country. We can’t let that happen.”</p><p>“Even if it blows into an open rebellion?” Toni swallowed.</p><p>“It would be about time anyway. I’m counting on you, tell the others and mess up the playing of the twenty-first as brilliantly as you can. I- I love you guys, I’m sorry it has to end like this but I just- I have to go- I-”</p><p>“It’s okay. We know Eddy,” Toni smiled with a hint of bitterness. “I know there’s nothing I can do to keep you from going to him.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Toni.”</p><p>“I know…”</p><p>They stayed there in silence for a whole five seconds before Alex cleared his throat.</p><p>“Weren’t you in a hurry, man?”</p><p>He nodded, looked at them one last time and started turning back to the stairs.</p><p>“Tell Ray he’s a fucker,” he yelled as he went down.</p><p>“Brilliant last words!” he heard from above and chuckled a bit wetly.</p><p>*</p><p>Eddy wasn’t a gambler. He disliked hazard games and thought it was stupid to let an outcome rest in the hands of fate when you could work hard for it instead. </p><p>But what he was about to do right now was a bet on his life. He had no idea how it would turn out but he had run out of any other options.</p><p>So here he was standing, at the bottom of the Tower. After the ten steps going down, behind the door under the stairs of the main hall. Right at the point where the acoustic lines met. The nexus was vibrating, converging with power and sound, shaking him to his core as even his breath felt like a flute, as his heart felt like a drum, his tendons were strings played by his skin, his whole body was becoming an orchestra.</p><p>The room was empty. Just a dark space with no floor, earth below his feet, cracks running through it to meet at the center, sound waves coming from it, strong enough you could almost see them.</p><p>They came here, once, with Brett, when they were kids and roaming the Tower. He remembered them scared and running away.</p><p>There was no more of that now.</p><p>Those acoustic lines, they ran throughout the continent, they could transport magic and music from here to anywhere, if used properly. At least, if those scribbles he had found in the lab were correct. He shivered and tried to breathe in, but it only came out as a whistle, so perfectly in tune with the blood singing in his veins. He could feel every part of him morphing into an instrument, and he shook his head to clear it. Trembling hands reached inside his case to set up the stones he had carved, one on top of each crack, three others in a triangle around the center. They glowed eerily, filled with his magic, and started to sing, with each pulse of the sound waves, a crystalline sound echoing in the room, stronger and stronger until he couldn’t hear anything but this.</p><p>He stepped forward, mind emptier the closer he got. Head lolling left and right to the rhythm of the sound waves, music echoing inside his ribcage, inside his skull.</p><p>He was there. At the center. His body distended around the sound, he stayed unmoving for several seconds, blinking, before his brain shook him in action with the last of its processing power. His violin felt foreign in his left hand, his bow both too light and too heavy, and he pressed one time. One blue thread. </p><p>The stones sang. Reached their climax. </p><p>And Eddy disappeared in the next sound wave. </p><p>Everything else cracked.</p><p>*</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <em> Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/><br/>
</h1><p>There was no light where he was and Brett didn’t want to admit it but he was afraid, furious, grieving, and this time, all of those feelings came only from him.</p><p>He had been taken away in broad daylight, the day they received the date of the peace treaty. Everyone had been there to see it, to see Engelberta rip the letter from the hands of General Kernold and tear it apart, yelling she would never let this happen, that they had killed her Luciria, her dragon, her mate. To hear her scorn their stupidity for letting a Bellanian spy into their ranks, their dishonesty for this farce of a peace treaty, their naivety if they thought it would ever happen. To see her grab him, strong hand around his neck, as she had threatened to kill him, one of those precious melomages so revered in the army. So they had left her go with him in tow. They had all seen that. Melomages, knights, generals.</p><p> </p><p>But nobody came for him.</p><p>He didn’t know what day it was, it must have been at least a week since he had been captured and locked at the bottom of this cave, because that was the time it took for a letter to go from the eastern front to the Tower, and he knew Eddy had read it.</p><p>He had felt it without a doubt, the raw pain in his best friend’s body, traveling through the wristband, so strong Brett almost passed out from it. It was too much. Sometimes he had no idea how his childhood friend was still functional with the raging storm of emotions fighting inside him at all times. There was hurt, there was anger, there was panic, there was something clogging his throat, constricting his chest and stopping him from breathing that he couldn’t even name. And above all, the undying love that never stopped, that kept feeding the bad, because Eddy loved too much for his own good. </p><p><em> I love you, don’t leave me - </em>he could almost hear the hushed whispers in his ears. </p><p>But now he was only left with his own thoughts, cold and empty, because the day Eddy read his letter was the last day he ever felt anything come from the wristband. It went silent after that. </p><p>And the implication of this scared him shitless.</p><p>Brett had always thought he was strong. Resilient. Steady of heart. The one that could be counted on, that would look at the solution instead of lamenting at the problem.</p><p>But alone in the dark, without his violin, without his earring, the loud emptiness of the wristband echoing inside his ribcage, he cried. Ugly tears, hiccups, snot from his nose, and no shoulder to rest against. </p><p>What was the point of trying to get out of there? He had thought at one point. What was the worst that would happen since Eddy had disappeared already? </p><p>
  <em> How? </em>
</p><p>Bett was the one who was captured, who had been fighting at the front for three years, Eddy was supposed to be at least safe in the Tower, if not happy. <em> How?! </em></p><p>That’s when the rage came, keeping him focused, pushing the depression at bay, teeth gnawing at his lips, nails scratching against his skin. He had to stay alive until he saw him again, he had promised, and if- if- if Eddy was-</p><p>If anything had happened, he had to stay alive until he could kill the ones who took his childhood friend from him. Then it would be okay to mourn.</p><p>He had even told Engelberta once, lips dry and heart empty, as she came with water and bread - <em> if you hate Surie that much, if your side wins, if you have the chance to, burn the fucking Tower to the ground. </em></p><p>“What for? You won’t be around to see it,” she had shrugged.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter... I think they killed my best friend.”</p><p>There was no light where he was.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Musicographie:</p><p>Bach Cello Suite No.5</p><p>Tchaikovsky violin concerto un D Major</p><p>Bach violin Sonata No.1 - Adagio</p><p> </p><p>I hope you liked, I remember being intense and emotional when I was writing this, I don’t know how much of this emotion I managed to carry, but thank you for reading anyway :)</p><p>Also, thank you for every kind comment or kudos &lt;3 they always leave me extra happy.</p><p>(I had this dream the other night, where TwoSet said they didn’t want their fans shipping them anymore, and I was like “welp, guess I just have to erase the 70+k words I wrote about them” when I woke up I frenetically scrolled Twitter to if this was true, and sagged in relief when I realized I didn’t have to delete all of my works xD)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Mrs. Chen (give me back my son)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was all for the good of this country. His last hope in keeping Surie unified.</p><p>One lie out, one truth out.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey :) told you the next update would be fast. I went back to write short, in between chapters interludes now that the letters are over, so that I can update faster, and give more perspective into my world. (Once again, do pay attention to the dates, especially the hours now, since everything is happening in a very short time)</p><p>I was chatting with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonnayoly/pseuds/Jonnayoly">Jonnayloy</a> the other day, and we wondered, if Brett and Eddy hadn’t been melomages and had been regular Surians, what their gift would have been, she suggested that when they are angry, people would hear Flight of the Bumblebee and I thought they could transform water into Bubble Tea xD please share if you have any funny idea.</p><p>(As usual, thank you Ria for the beta reading!! &lt;3)</p><p>(<b>EDIT: I changed the order of the chapter for a more comprehensive timeline, this one was previously about the Emperor</b>)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Mrs. Chen (give me back my son)</h1><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p><em> Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 15th </em> </p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>Her hands shook, the black paper absorbing the tears streaming from her face.</p><p>She clutched the letter, breath stuck somewhere between her chest and her mouth - <em> stupid, stupid, stupid son</em>.</p><p>Ten years of void, ten years of guessing, ten years of not knowing, and that’s the first news she got? That’s all he had to say?</p><p>How could she <em>not </em>be angry? How could he even ask this? What right did he have when he was- when he was a <em> stupid son</em>.</p><p><em> Maybe- maybe it’s not true? </em>Her Eddy was so headstrong, so stubborn, he couldn’t just die like this.</p><p>But if he was- she had already been mourning for a decade, if he was-</p><p>In between picks of anger, lacing sadness, and disbelieve, only stayed the emptiness.</p><p>She opened the door to the Yangs’ kitchen - she had to try thrice, her fingers kept slipping on the knob, unsteady and weak. Peishan was drawing in her sketchbook, the papers spread around on the floral tissue of the tablecloth, and her husband was cooking, his back to the door, framed by the red curtains of the window. All red. So much red. And suddenly she did not want to see red anymore.</p><p>“Chiaying?” her friend frowned. “What’s happening?” she asked in Angish.</p><p>She could not answer at once, slid the letter on the table - so black against the color of the flowers.</p><p>“Thank you for allowing me to stay with you for all those years. I am very grateful to you, Peishan, Tsunghan,” she bowed to the Yang couple.</p><p>“It’s all-natural, please you don’t need to thank us,” Peishan stood up and grabbed her by the shoulder. “We’ve all lost our children. It makes sense to stay with each other.”</p><p>The vice crushing her guts got tighter at the word <em>lost, </em>and the sob she was trying to keep in almost escaped her lips. Her still trembling fingers squeezed her friend’s hand and she stepped back.</p><p>“They will pay,” she whispered, to her friend’s confusion.</p><p>“Peishan? Peishan! Read!” Tsunghan was skimming the letter in panic. “It’s Brett and Eddy.”</p><p>The couple‘s face whitened as they went through the words, but Chiaying Chen was already on her way out as she heard them gasp.</p><p>She had lost her foolish husband, her eldest daughter, and her stupid son. To this country. To this Tower. To the damn music she had come to hate.</p><p>Peishan was screaming, running behind her, but she ignored her, kept walking briskly, heels clanking against the paved street, the passerby throwing strange looks at the two Angish women making a scene.</p><p>She walked and walked. Walked until the shadow of the Tower covered her entirely, until her friend’s screaming had died down. Until she stood in front of the stone gates. </p><p>She hit it.</p><p>“Give me back my son!” she screamed in Surian.</p><p>She hit again - her fist so tiny against the doors.</p><p>“You killed him! Give him back! Give! Him! Back!”</p><p>People started gathering behind her. Whispering. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t care about it; about their stares, about their opinion, about the rumors. None of it mattered anymore.</p><p>Peishan’s arms closed around her shoulders - <em> I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Let’s go back home. Please - </em>but she wasn’t listening.</p><p>“Murderers! You took him! You killed my Weicheng, my Eddy! Give him back!”</p><p>Her fingers were red, pain shooting every time she banged against the stone. A welcome reprieve from the pain in her chest, from the vice in her guts.</p><p>“Give me back my husband! Give me back my daughter! Give me back my son!”</p><p>She was crying and shaking, and then there was another fist banging on the door. Smaller, whiter.</p><p>“Give me back my son!” Peishan yelled.</p><p>The two mothers exchanged a glance.</p><p>“Give them back!”</p><p>A burly, blond man came from behind them; smashed his hand against the gates.</p><p>“Give me back my daughter! She was just twelve, you bastards!”</p><p>“Give me back my son!” another voice joined them.</p><p>“Give me back my sister!” a young woman threw a pebble at the door.</p><p>“Give me back my friend!”</p><p>“Give me back my son!” Chiaying Chen yelled around the knot in her throat, knowing it was too late already.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Very short, but this finally makes us meet Mrs. Chen and see what's happening in Prass outside of the Tower</p><p>I had an idea about a fluffy one shot involving the boys finding a puppy and Eddy’s allergies to pets while discussing with another twosetter today who thought it’d be nice to have Eddy’s allergies included in a fanfic somehow.</p><p> </p><p>Stayed tuned, depending on the length, it might come out today or tomorrow.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 7: This is why we exist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Threads; exploding. Tanks overthrown. Dragons dying, suffocated, blasted. Bodies piling up in between mountains. Red gems shining in the night, pulsing with threat.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>This is not why we exist.</em></p><p> </p><p>Violin playing; two teenagers, chirping birds even in the dead of the night, laughter flowing, Navarra. The only thread the one linking them together, red and blue intertwined, from one chest to the other, pulsing in time with their heartbeat, shaking with their mirth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>This is why we exist.</em></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It took me forever, but here’s the seventh chapter of MeloMania :)<br/>MeloMania might be a bit longer than anticipated (some may have notices the chapter number went from 17 to 20, and I might still adjust that number). I don’t know how I feel about that, because I had planned for a short story, and I still don’t want to drag it (otherwise I might lose all of you in the process), so I’ll try my best to keep it under a certain length while still writing what I want to write.</p><p>Once again, pay attention to the date. I’m probably going to release a timeline as an independent chapter, along with a map, and update them as the story goes. Would any of you be interested by that? (Please answer if you do, because it’s going to take me some time, and if nobody needs it, I won’t bother :))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 7: This is why we exist</span>
</h1><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year ???????</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>He had no idea who he was - if he even was someone. Whispers shook him, sounds bursting in him, outside of him. What was his inside? What was his limit? What was the line between him and the rest?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It is fading.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The melody. It is fading.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>People; dressed in elegant clothes, roaming the Tower, peculiar faces, pointy noses, naked feet, long, long fingers, music in their hands, threads flowing all around, constantly weaving to the pulse of a thousand rythmes. The light on their faces slowly disappearing as the sound lost its color, as the threads greyed out and fell into dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>White-faced strangers; blond of hair, blue of eyes, turning their swords over their heads, flooding the stone city with open doors and paved streets, steel melting flesh when no shield held; the magic had died just before them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleeing; naked feet on the paved ways, on the dirt, on the grass, tears, and screams when the shimmering dresses glimmered one last time, as the city fell to the hands of the blond-haired barbarians, music left behind, ignored and the pulse was fading and fading.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“When?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A long, long time ago. It is happening again. All over. But so fast. You are losing the melody. It does not mean anything to you anymore, we cannot help anyone if it loses its meaning to you. Someone knows.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A man; velvet and outlandish decorations in the office, a golden crown on his head bent over old papers. A frown marring his face. Men and Women surrounding him with grave expressions.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They know you cannot help any more, soon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Threads; exploding. Tanks overthrown. Dragons dying, suffocated, blasted. Bodies piling up in between mountains. Red gems shining in the night, pulsing with threat.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is not why we exist.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who is ‘you’? Who is ‘we’?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It does not matter. We are not you, but we are part of you. You. You are you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A music room; children huddled together, an orb in their hands. A Tower; boys hugging, one is crying in the arms of the other. A library; one is reading, the other is pretending to, but behind his black-framed glasses, his eyes are straying on the other’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is… this is Brett! I remember, this is Brett and me! I have to save him, I have to go! Help me!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We know. We will.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Violin playing; two teenagers, chirping birds even in the dead of the night, laughter flowing, Navarra. Threads linking them together, red and blue intertwined, from one chest to the other, pulsing in time with their heartbeat, shaking with their mirth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is why we exist.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the sound of a rock falling, Eddy was out of the Tower. A children’s laughter, he was in the center of the capital. A carriage bumping on the paved streets, he was at the gates. A dog barking, he was on a farm. Bottles of milk clinking together, he was on the road. A baby’s cries, he was in a new town. Bit by bit, sound by sound, he traveled. He saw night and day, but he kept being carried.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>*</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 20th</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The mountains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A valley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy gasped into existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me,” Engelberta grabbed him by the arm and pulled him standing. “I can’t keep you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett wondered, now, how he could have not noticed. Maybe he was too used to the cultural diversity of the fucking Tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tanned skin, the accent, the rolling of some consonants, the way she would use words that didn’t make sense sometimes. Her expression when he had received that medal for killing her dragon. Red-rimmed eyes and face paler than ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is Engelberta even your real name?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was dragged out, and hissed when the sun burned his retina. They stood at the center of the valley, from afar, on each side, burned bodies piled up. The only difference; the color of their uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Amalea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody was there. The valley was empty of life, except for the two of them, the Bellanian spy and her melomage prisoner. The peace treaty negotiations would probably happen right here, in a few days, in a few hours. Maybe it had passed already. He had no idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to do with me, Amalea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop this fake negotiation from happening, stop my people from falling for this Surian ploy. Get revenge for Luciria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flashes. Of his red threads surrounding the dragon. strangling it- strangling </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The fight and the fire. The screams and the music and the mess it had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m- I’m sorry. For your dragon. I didn’t know. But I don’t see how taking me helps you, I’m nobody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you melomages are important to them, if I stand with you in the middle of the peace negotiations, if me, a Bellanian, kills you in front of them - Surie’s secret weapon - it’ll show everybody you are not as invincible as you think you are. That my side can still win, that your bunch can be dealt with-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing registered anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing apart from the flow of emotions flooding his senses, blinding him with their strength, nerves alight, and skin buzzing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amalea was shaking him, questioning him, and he realized he was smiling like a madman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s alive,” he just said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feelings receded but it was enough. He hadn’t even had the time to parse them, too many going on at once, on top of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a newfound energy, he elbowed his captor in the stomach and wiggled away. She caught him again, swearing in a foreign language as he thrashed around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me go, just fucking let me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” she raged. “You don’t get to escape, I need to stop this, I need to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s useless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice didn’t come from any of them. He hadn’t heard it in three years but Brett didn’t have to turn to recognize who it came from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s knees were ready to buckle from relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were just- just standing there. Outside. Out of the Tower. Under the sunlight. The both of them. Belle was there too, beside him. Hilary, Sophie, Hyung; they had all helped him without questions, when he had told them. And now his best friend was there, in the grasp of a Bellanian spy, tired and dirty and surely a bit broken. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The mountains of the Paals towered over them, snowy peaks and green pines leaving way to grey rocks and red dirt at the bottom, the glint of the exploding gems littering the valley, and what a beautiful deathbed it would have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddy…” his best friend whispered, disbelief tainting his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brett.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got to stop following me around in dangerous places.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could get killed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better than being alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sister elbowed him in the stomach and he winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did it for you too, no need to be so violent,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose you’re the husband. We’ve heard so much about you,” the woman interrupted, her voice was steady, but he could hear her breathing had picked up. She wasn’t feeling at ease confronted by two melomages, even with the life of a third one between her hands. “Did your Tower send you to negotiate? Well I don’t want negotiations, I know it’s all bullshit. And I especially wouldn’t come to any kind of agreement with the woman who killed Luciria,” she spat at Belle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sister recoiled but he stood his ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You’re right, it’s all bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked in confusion and tightened her grip on his best friend’s arm. He wasn’t resisting, only keeping his eyes fixed on him. Eddy’s heart ached. He looked so- so </span>
  <em>
    <span>thin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Tired, out of it, cold. All those things the earring he had given him three years ago was supposed to protect him from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fast to admi-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything you did,” He kept going. “Blowing your cover, capturing Brett, using him to stop the peace treaty. It’s useless. Those people, at the Tower, at the Ministry of Defence, the Emperor, they are ready to sacrifice us, all of us, so the peace never happens. So that all of Surie thinks Bellani and Glanne betrayed us. They’ll kill us anyway. They don’t care about him, or about me, about any of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see Brett’s jaw slacken as he was speaking and- oh, right. He had never read his letter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The situation is bad for everybody, there are explosives everywhere in this field, they can be set at any time,” Belle spoke. “You should just leave and warn your own people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a bit too late,” the spy chuckled, bitterness seeping. “They’ll never believe me, I’ve told them already this was surely a trap. But Bellani is tired of the war, they’ve lost enough men, enough dragons. They want peace. They’re blind and I’m the only one who can make them see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how?” Eddy started getting angry. “What’s your plan? How is one single melomage going to change the situation? I told you, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t care</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The people ruling Surie, they don’t care about us anymore, they want war as much as you do. Just fucking let him go and enjoy the conflict if you want it that much!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t- I have to show them. They have to see you can be killed, the peace treaty will be negotiated in a few hours and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have a plan,” Brett spoke, eyes wide, as if just realizing. “You don’t know what to do. You panicked, didn’t you? That day when you learned about the peace treaty negotiations. Your side didn’t tell you it was official. That’s why- that’s why you tore up that letter and took me. But you don’t know what to do now, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t answer, but Eddy saw the grimace on his friend’s face from how forceful her grip must be on him. His heart started beating out of his throat. He had hoped making her realize her actions were useless would be enough, hoped he could just take his best friend back without her noticing, but he had been too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do this,” Belle interceded, her voice was softer now as she spoke to the woman and her hand was rubbing Eddy’s arm to calm him down. “You can just let him go and leave, try to save your people by stopping them from coming here, and we can do the same. Try not to play in the hands of the ones ruling us. Try to stop the bodies from being added to the pile. The earth is red enough in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman shook her head with a sneer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the point? I don’t have anything left! You took her away from me! My Luciria. You two took my dragon away from me!” She was jerking Brett around, like a rag doll cut from his strings. “At least I’ll take him away, since I have nothing else to lose!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to do that! You don’t need revenge!“ he was panicking now, hands grasping uselessly at the air in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think? Wouldn’t you kill me? I’ll take away your most precious person, won’t you be ready to do anything for revenge after watching him dying while you can’t do anything?“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t answer, throat working painfully as he swallowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will, won’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will kill me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was crying, because there was only one way this would end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The earth shook with vibration of the Bach Suite No.5, the yellow threads arose, swiped and her neck snapped. She fell on the red dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The discretion spell shimmered away and behind it, Hyung’s bow went down on the strings of his cello one last time, eyes hard and mouth tight. Eddy was grateful the cellist refrained from giving him the - </span>
  <em>
    <span>I told you so - </span>
  </em>
  <span>he deserved. He had hoped this could be solved without violence until the last minute, even when Hyung had warned him </span>
  <em>
    <span>- you weren’t there when she took him. She won’t back off, there’s only one way this will end - </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had still hoped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett's knees gave out just as Eddy was running, staggering toward him. His glasses were wet from tears, ruining his vision. His hands were shaking as they circled his best friend’s shoulders, falling, folding into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle and Hyung watched from a few step afar the two young men kneeling on the ground, a bundle of bodies both clinging to each other, grasping at clothes and skin and hair and everything that they could get their hands on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, you’re here. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>here,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Brett kept mumbling, like a broken record.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so- so fucking scared. You can’t do that again. Ever. You can’t leave me. You can’t die on me, you-” his best friend was speaking at the same time, and they probably didn’t even register what was coming out of their mouth, what was landing in their ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The embrace was so tight neither could breath, but breathing was unimportant right now, they had three years of being touch starved to compensate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett’s hands couldn’t stop roaming the other’s back, arms, head - he was bigger, broader than in his memories - mapping out everything he had missed during the time he was away. Eddy was grabbing him, crying in his neck, and it felt so foreign and familiar he started tearing up too, a shoulder to rest against.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two,” Belle started. “I know this is an emotional reunion, but we can’t stay here, you should let go of each other now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bro…” Eddy muttered after some more time just enjoying each other’s presence, unsticking his face from his neck. His skin was blotchy, nose red, cheeks covered in tears trails, and his glasses askew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Couldn’t shower in captivity, hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really, no. What’s your excuse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Guys,“ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hyung stressed, somehow managing to sound both impatient and calm. “Belle is right, we need to go. You both must have a lot of questions for each other, I know I have some, but we’ll answer them somewhere safer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Eddy mumbled, untangling himself from the other. He held out his hand. “C’mon dude, we’re getting out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett took his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even once up, he didn’t let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to burn the body,” Belle said softly. “Otherwise, she might turn into a ghoul. Brett, can you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathed in. He didn’t want to do magic. To slash and to explode and to burn. Not now, not ever again. He was so fucking tired of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I can do that,” he just answered. “But I don’t- I don’t have my violin. I don’t know where she put it- she took it away from me and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy squeezed his hand one last time before taking off the violin case strapped on his back. He laid it down on the floor and opened it, taking out his instrument. Behind it, Brett could see all of his letters carefully folded, safe inside the case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hilary went to take yours back. Use mine in the meantime,” Eddy handed him his violin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sharing a violin… haven’t done that in a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not since before the Tower, hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They smiled at each other, and he took the instrument. Sharing one violin, huh. It brought him back to the old music room. To the out of tune piano. To their kid selves messing around with the one violin they had for the both of them, trying to replicate what they heard and saw on the orbs. To the first music they ever heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tchaikovsky. He would play Tchaikovsky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started. Determined to just enjoy the music for the first few notes, to set back to a maximum the moment he would have to destroy again. But the second his bow met the string he got invaded, overwhelmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It surged inside of him like never before and he raised his eyes, breathing shallow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Eddy mumbled, hand tight around the wristband, staring back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too many things started going on at once, his own emotion piling up on top of his best friend’s, and one body was not enough for all of it. He kept playing, muscle memory doing all the work while the tears and sobs started again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just- It was too much. He had no idea what he was feeling anymore, but it was too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eddy’s feelings were whispering inside his heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s gonna be okay. I’m glad you’re alive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The red threads exploded out of him, burning, setting Amalea on fire and he should have stopped playing but as the flames climbed, he kept the notes going. It was messy, he was shaking, he was rushing through the piece, and it was getting worse and worse, but he couldn’t stop now, he was feeling too much and he didn’t even know anymore if it was good or bad, he probably looked demented, lowering his bow on the strings this forcefully, but every swing of his arm was cathartic, every second the music evaded him, there was comfort and love spreading inside of him, warming him up from the inside. And when his head started getting clear enough he could distinguish his own feelings from Eddy’s, he stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed, and his best friend was crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be okay,” Eddy said, aloud this time, as if he hadn’t conveyed it enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it- Is it stronger? Your spell? Now that we are so close?“”Brett asked shakily, trying to get over the mess he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” he whispered back, unclenching the other’s fingers from his violin. “I haven’t thought about it, but we can- you can take it off- if it’s too much, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy just nodded, a pleased smile peeking from the tears still streaming, and Brett felt he had seen enough of them to last himself a lifetime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t know how safe it was, this room in one of Ihedge’s inns, it was probably one of the first places people would start searching but right now it would suffice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many people were piled up in this little bedroom. Belle, Hyung, Hilary Hahn, her bodyguard, Oliver, Sophie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt almost surreal for Eddy to have Brett so close so casually, after all this time. He couldn’t help but sneak glances every now and again - he was still there, still near. To check on him, making sure he wouldn’t suddenly collapse, with how thin and worn out he looked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, Brett, your violin. It was just hidden a bit higher on the mountain,” Hilary handed him the case with a smile. Her autograph was on it and Eddy couldn’t help but smile. They were the same brand of fanboy idiots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you even find it?” Brett whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t, Eddy did. He told me where to get it back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett frowned and raised an eyebrow at his best friend. The silent question was obvious enough and he suddenly felt embarrassed, gnawing on his finger, fiddling with the gem Hilary had found with the violin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your earring…” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Did you put a tracker on me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It’s not like that! But the earring is- it’s full of my magic, and I can kind of know where it is when I’m near, the same way I can feel the shield’s wave from the Tower when I help thread it. I didn’t intend for it to track you but it just happened and- listen, it was a good thing, in the end, it’s the only thing that allowed me to know where to go,“ he defended himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not accusing you,” Brett just answered, taking the jewel from his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at him intently before putting it back in the hole of his lobe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So. What’s this whole thing about? Why are you even here, Eddy? What’s happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should probably thread a discretion spell before answering that, this might be a long chat,” Oliver piped in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you even know about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brett told me a lot. Also apparently your discretion spells are top-notch and I really want to see one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t see threads, Oliver,” Brett rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young knight shrugged, curiosity still etched on his features. He wasn’t wrong though, they needed to make sure they couldn’t be found with screening spells.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy opened his case, then saw what was in there and smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was for another time though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he just got his violin, installed it under his chin, and breathed in. Beside him, he could feel his best friend brace himself. Then he glanced at Hilary and he knew what to play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first notes of the Bach Adagio vibrated in the small room, slow and soft, the pain of thinking he almost lost his best friend, the relief of seeing him, the bittersweetness of having him there, alive but half-broken. It wasn’t just his pain, it wasn’t just his relief, it was their shared emotions that created this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no shaky bow that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blue, thin threads rose and laced themselves, threading their magic around the room, but no attention was given to them, the melody filling the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He poured their soul into every bow stroke and when he felt Brett’s surprise course through his body, he knew the earring was working again, protecting in small ways, like he couldn’t do from afar. He knew warmth was warding him from the cold again, his tiredness pushed back, his hunger calmed. The spell he had threaded all those years ago, days and nights of research over this little red gem, trying to infuse it with everything he had, every protecting spell he knew, to ward any small discomfort from his best friend who was going to be alone and cold, in the windy valley of the war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy couldn’t miss it, the surge of fondness directed toward him, so overwhelming his bow almost skidded on a chord. Adoration filtering through the wristband, feeding his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The piece ended, and Brett had his hand around the earring, swallowing over nothing, eyes open all the way down to his soul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking sap,” he read on his lips. And nobody in the room had any idea what just happened between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So!” Oliver started, oblivious as ever. “That was super cool! I’ve never heard anybody play like that, it was brilliant. Now, what’s happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True,“ Sophie added. “We all followed you here Eddy, but what is going on? What are you doing here? How do you know what you know?“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much was going on; war, secrets, explosives, sacrifices, shields - but he mentioned none of those.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s- It’s the melody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about it?” Hilary asked, and something in her tone, in the tilt of her head indicated she already had a clue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re losing it.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You met... Music, basically? I hope you liked it, and Brett and Eddy are finally reunited!! :D</p><p>Also, if you’re tired of the angst and haven’t read it already, I’ve published a fluffy two shots a few days ago, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003866/chapters/63224545">Puppy Love</a> about TwoSet and well... Puppies. </p><p>Have a nice day! (No clue when the next chapter will come out. Since it’s an interlude, should be soon enough.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Turning Point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Her hands shook, the black paper absorbing the tears streaming from her face.</p><p>She clutched the letter, breath stuck somewhere between her chest and her mouth - <em>stupid, stupid, stupid son.</em></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here’s another interlude - we're getting a different kind of point of view</p><p>I’ve posted the map and the timeline as a separate work, second part of the MeloMania series, check them out if you want :)</p><p>Thank you Ria for the beta reading! :D</p><p>(<b>EDIT: I changed the order of the chapters, this one was previously about Mrs.Chen starting her little revolution</b>)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Turning point</span>
</h1>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 25th - 7 p.m</span>
  </em>
</p>
<h1>
<br/>
<br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>The man sagged in his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The situation was a disaster. A complete, utter disaster. Nothing had gone according to plan, the Minister of Defence only cared for how strong their army was, the masters of the Tower seemed more and more reluctant to let the government dictate the way they handled things with their young magicians, a good third of the melomages were in open rebellion, a bunch of angry Prassians was staging a sitting in front of the Tower, the lords near the borders had started getting restless, the country was on the brink of civil war and this- this fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>war.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all so typical of his father to just start things like that, to put all of these things in motion, this big plan that he shared with no one but himself, and then die. And leave his son to deal with the mess. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had no clue what he was doing and it baffled him, all this deference, all these people turning to him, waiting for his decisions, picking the words from his mouth as if he was some sort of all-knowing god. How long until they realized he was as lost as his ministers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did his father have any idea? When he started all of this? When he launched the first attack against Surie? Surely he didn’t. He had always been so confident, so proud of this magic, of those threads his own son had never been able to see, so sure it would never fail them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father the melomage, so disappointed in his oh-so-very-normal son. He probably didn’t anticipate it; that they would be losing the melody. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melomages couldn’t protect the Surian Empire forever, their melody trapped in a war strangling it. It would end, soon, their music raising nothing but dust, and all those foreign armies would flood in. The Rangan Empire would stop hesitating, their armies were already at their doorstep anyway, only kept on hold at the western border by the melomages deployed there. Even the small principality of Spangel could become trouble then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now, he had put all his faith in some old scribblings from his father, in the enthusiastic nod the Minister of Defence had given him and the pensive look on Master Omon’s face as he had deciphered the plans of the shield with Master Swabendich. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This can work,” the old man had mumbled. “We can make this work, Your Highness. Let me handle it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he had disappeared, back behind the stones of the Tower to do whatever melomages did there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t afford to appear weak before the shield is ready,” the Minister of Defence had hissed. “Nobody can realize our melomages are losing their melody.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to keep the country united,” the Minister of the Interior had added. “Promises of peace will just make the lords go back to fighting each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Glanne and Bellani must stay the enemy in the eyes of the people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So they had devised their plan and he had nodded to everything his ministers had said, carried by some wild hope he could make one thing right; keep his country safe in one big move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if it meant losing attack melomages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Especially if it meant losing attack melomages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They wouldn’t need them anyway, if the shield succeeded, if the research of his father was right. All his problems; dealt with in one explosion, one last lie. Blame Bellani, blame Glanne, like his father had done before him, and let his people unite again in fear of their enemies. Let them willingly give the Tower their energy, just long enough for the spell of the shield to be done with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And all of it, his very last hope in keeping this damn country unified had almost been thwarted because of stupid letters. Because two childhood friends had tried to establish contact against every odds and like an unstoppable force, they had found their way back to each other, willing to crush everything in between. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if the in-between was Surie’s future.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was okay, he reminded himself, looking at the report on his desk, finger tracing the letters. It didn’t go according to plan, but they still succeeded, and at least the two were dead now. Even though the defense melomages at the Tower had refused to play, they had still succeeded, thanks to that one cellist who still wanted to protect this country - they would honor his sacrifice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hit him again then, what success meant in this instance, their own knights and generals buried under rubble. He felt too old to deal with this, too young to deal with this. Wholly inadequate for the crisis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your Highness, it’s time," the Minister of Communication opened the door, back bent in reverence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emperor Audric II rose from his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was time to address his people. One lie out. One truth out. To tell them about Glanne’s and Bellanian treachery. To tell them peace had never been an option. To tell them, for the first time ever, about melomages. About their only hope. About the shield they would make together, as a united country, so that they could be at peace, forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One lie out. One truth out.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Meet the Emperor of Surie and his ministers, don't hate on him too much, he has no idea what he's doing.</p><p>Thank you for reading! Next actual chapter will be I don’t know when, but since my best friend is reading this, and she puts me under subtle and kind pressure because she wants to read what comes next, it shouldn’t take much time.</p><p>I’m at the point where I kind of make up the plot as I go though, since I reached the end of what I had planned in the begging, so maybe I should sit down and start planning again to try and keep the plot tight. (Literally, my drafts for my next chapters look like “they leave” “something bad happens” “someone dies” “they come back” “they find a way to make it work” - past me had a lot of faith present me would figure out a decent plot with those few sentences. Present me is not so sure, but will happily relegate the task to future me.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 8: Unphased from reality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What would happen now? Where would they go? How would they live? There was the taste of freedom on his tongue and a new kind of fear tingling at the back of his throat. Did Brett think about it? He had seen more of the world already, maybe he had an idea, maybe he would take charge like he used to when they were kids? He turned to him, and saw his best friend was already staring up at him. He looked exactly as lost.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll figure something out together,” Brett answered, keeping his eyes on Eddy.</p><p> </p><p>His childhood friend’s warmth was seeping in his side, and he felt centered, suddenly. Like his balance was restored after three years of walking around with a part of him missing. Like they could take on the world, like they could do anything.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. We’ll figure it out.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here’s my next chapter :) my best friend challenged to write a whole chapter from start to finish in a single day yesterday. Which I did. Which is why the chapter is here so soon xD </p><p>Thank you Ria for beta reading everything I write with so much efficiency :) (Trust me, you wouldn’t want to read those before she beta reads them, it is littered with mistakes)</p><p>(Map and timeline updated)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 8: Unphased from reality</span>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 20th</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>“Fuck. Eddy, that’s… You could have died, you idiot! What possessed you to just- just dematerialize yourself into- into what? Sound? For six days?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett’s hand was grabbing his coat, rubbing the cloth between his fingers, as if to make sure he was real, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had no idea what was happening, I could barely remember who I was, let alone grasp any complicated concept. I just- followed? They said they would help me get to you, and that was all that mattered at the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hilary giggled and Hyung rolled his eyes, then Eddy realized what he had said and wiggled his eyebrows at Brett who swatted him on the arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so corny, I swear,” he grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think this is cute,” Hilary smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett started blushing, and Eddy marveled at this expression he had never seen on his best friend’s face before. He was used to him going through shades of proud, pissed, happy, giggly, sad, determined, fond - but never shy. The power of Hilary Hahn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knowing smirk was growing on his face when his childhood friend glanced at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t said anything,” Eddy defended himself with too much mirth in his voice to have any credibility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite everything that was wrong with their situation, elation was bubbling inside of him. His best friend was still his best friend; with looks that carried entire conversations and the same ease that had cradled all their interactions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, let me get this straight,” Belle interrupted. “We are losing our powers… because the melody doesn’t really make sense to us anymore? And all of this happened to the Ancient before us? Also, since we are going to be unable to defend the country, the Emperor is planning this whole thing with the giant shield you saw, as a last resort plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sister was leaning against the wall facing them, a pensive expression on her face. The last time he had seen her was seven years ago, when he was still scrawny enough to be smaller than her, when her hair was short and her voice was different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so strange, seeing this grown woman and trying to reconcile her with the image of the sister he had grown up with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he sighed, ripping his eyes from Brett to switch back to a more serious tone. “I’m not clear on everything but basically, I think the government wants to make the peace treaty fail to blame it on Glanne and Bellani-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s to keep the country united!” Oliver exclaimed, hand going through his fringe and eyes burning with interest. “I mean, the only reason all those lords at the border aren’t in open rebellion is because of the threat of war. So as long as they are outraged against Glanne and Bellani’s supposed treachery, they’ll be more faithful to the Emperor if they think he can protect them. In my opinion, this is also the strategy his father Audric I used when he first conquered Surie, he was probably the one who orchestrated a false attack from Bellani to start a war he was sure to win because he knew he had you, I mean, the melomages, all to keep Surie from a civil war that would be a nightmare to handle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett started rolling his eyes but Eddy elbowed him, already nodding at the blond knight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I actually agree with you. It all makes sense from that perspective. So Audric II copied his father and thought of unifying his people by putting the blame on our enemies and getting rid of attack melomages at the same time, since they won’t be of any use anyway with the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>losing-the-melody </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you’d get along,” his best friend snorted, massaging his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! You’re the friend he told me about, the one who likes conspiracy theories. I defended you, Oliver; told him you were probably right and he should listen to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you tell me that?” Brett frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In my letter, the one- oh. Shit. I forgot, you never read it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still have it,” Hilary whispered, fishing Eddy’s last letter from her violin case. “I hope you’ll forgive me but I’ve read it. I was worried about you when your friend Alex told me you had disappeared and hoped I could learn something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I read it?” Brett asked. “I feel like I’m missing some major information here, and I usually don’t follow Eddy when he’s rambling, but it’s ten times worse today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at his best friend and smirked, making grabby motions for the piece of paper in Hilary’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Brett was going through the missive, fingers still tight around Eddy’s coat - to his amusement - the others discussed in hushed tones how much of a mess the situation was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the 8th of September, after leaving the Tower with Eddy’s letter for Brett, Hilary had learned through Arne, on their way to the eastern border, that a letter addressed to a defense melomage had been intercepted from the front. Panic made her backtrack and go back to Prass, thinking maybe she could intercede in Eddy’s favor if the higher-ups discovered he had been communicating with Brett. But the only things that met her when she arrived were a black envelope handed by an Alex clutching a broken gem, the whisper Eddy was dead, and the warning Brett was captured at the border. She had traveled back East in a hurry after delivering the letter to Mrs.Chen, thinking she could maybe at least try and save one of them - but all she had been met with at the border was a panicked Eddy looking for his best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to admit, Eddy,” Sophie hummed, “what perfect timing you had. You and High Mage Hahn both arrived at the border exactly when Oliver, Hyung and I were on our way to try and save Brett.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as if we had a choice,” Oliver rolled his eyes. “Nobody seemed to care, the general was ready to just leave him to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, you should have seen this, Brett,” Hyung gave a snort. “Oliver became a rebel and told General Kernold to fuck off when he asked him to come back to his post.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett just shook his head with a smile, eyes still on the letter but Belle raised her eyebrows and gave the blond knight a look hard to decipher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way I can go back to the army now though, it’ll be a nightmare for me,” he scratched his cheek. “Maybe they’ll think I died in our crazy rescue mission. It would serve us well actually. Oh! But it’s the perfect opportunity for you guys! All the masters and the army believe the two of you are dead, Eddy in the Tower, and Brett killed by the Bellanian. Nobody will look for you, just flee! We all could just get the fuck away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I can leave,” Hilary’s smile was tinged with regret. “Eddy, even if your friends manage to overthrow the playing tomorrow, there is still so much that could go wrong, they might have a backup plan to still make the gems explode. I’ll head back to the front and try to warn General Kernold about this, or at least keep them from going into the valley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure he won’t listen to you, the army still isn’t big on melomages, you know, and they trust the government,” Oliver raised his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“General Kernold cares for his men, maybe I can lie and tell him this is a trap set by Bellani, so that they could at least not take the risk of getting caught in the explosion in case it still happens. And Arne is technically a knight, so maybe his words will have some weight,” she grabbed her bodyguard’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come with you if you allow me, High Mage Hahn,” Hyung added softly. “I’ve been in his squad for years now, defending his knights. Maybe between the three of us we can convince him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, I appreciate your help. Brett? Eddy?” They both turned toward her, Brett rising his eyes from the letter he was almost done reading. “Do you have any idea where you will go? I suppose it is too dangerous for you to leave a way to contact you but I would still like to see you again one day, or even just hear from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We- I don’t know. I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy stopped in his tracks, blinking as Hilary was smiling at him. He had spent so many years - ten of them - trying to plan an escape, he had never thought about what would come after. What would happen now? Where would they go? How would they live? There was the taste of freedom on his tongue and a new kind of fear tingling at the back of his throat. Had Brett thought about it? He had seen more of the world already, maybe he had an idea, maybe he would take charge like he used to when they were kids? He turned to him and his best friend was already staring up at him. He looked exactly as lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll figure something out together,” Brett answered, keeping his eyes on Eddy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His childhood friend’s warmth was seeping in his side, and he felt centered, suddenly. Like his balance was restored after three years of walking around with a part of him missing. Like they could take on the world, like they could do anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. We’ll figure it out,” he turned back to face Hilary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still smiling and there was a gentleness in her gaze as she was observing the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sure you will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two are cute,” Oliver piped in, Belle rolling her eyes with an irritated sigh. “I understand now why every melomage kept saying you were his husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up, Oliver,” Brett snapped as Eddy burst out laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His best friend looked up at him with eyes startled open behind his glasses, and Eddy hadn’t laughed - hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fully </span>
  </em>
  <span>laughed like this - in years. It felt so good, this rush of giddiness coursing through his body, he wanted to indulge in it a bit longer. So he did, kept laughing as if a dame had broken, as if he had to catch up on three years evading mirth. Then he heard a chuckle, a second one, and Brett’s weight resting on him as he bent in laughter too. Uncontrolled and without any reason. Nothing was funny but they didn’t care as hiccups interrupted their breath, and tears gathered in their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Eddy finally let out in between giggles. “Sorry. It’s- it’s just- it’s been a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Brett agreed with a sideways smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophie shook her head and Belle gave her little brother’s forehead a flick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that you calmed down, I might know where you could go, I’ll tell you about it later. I don’t think I’ll come with you though. As much as I don’t want us to be separated again, someone has to fix your mistakes and tell our mother her son is not dead. That’s my role as your big sister. I’ll take her to safety somewhere and I’ll bring the Yangs with us too,” she added when she saw Brett open his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he gave her a short nod. “Could you, maybe, tell them I miss them? And that- I mean, maybe my Mom feels guilty that we would never have been taken by the Tower if she hadn’t bought me my first violin but- just tell her it’s not her fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, same for Mom,” Eddy hummed. “Tell her it’s not her fault either, she did everything she could to keep us from doing music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That she did…” His sister snorted. “She might know things, melomages are supposed to be a secret but somehow she knew we were taken because of the music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking exactly the same thing,” Eddy raised his eyebrows and the siblings exchanged a secret smile. “Great minds think alike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could still feel Brett sitting on his right and his sister was there, grinning at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rush of happiness burst inside of him, unannounced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were eight people inside a tiny inn room in Ihedge, hiding from the army, from the Tower, in the middle of a war, at the center of the Empire’s ploys, and both of them had almost died. But Belle was alive, Brett was alive, and they were all within touching distance of each other, the Tower thought Eddy was dead, the army thought Brett was dead - they were as free as they had ever been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see in his sister’s eyes her mind was on the same track, and before he could react, he was standing and engulfed in a hug. He heard Brett’s soft ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>humpf’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>as Belle grabbed him too and squeezed the two boys in her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t have time for a proper reunion but I’m so, so, so glad the two of you are alright, and together, I missed you, my two little brothers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy laughed and sneaked an arm around her waist to hug her back while Brett was trying to squirm out of it, throwing panicked glances at Hilary Hahn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She won’t think you’re lame because you’re enjoying a hug with your family,” Eddy whispered in his ear, pulling him back into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can say that because everyone already thinks you’re a cheesy motherfucker, I have a reputation,” he hissed, poking him in the ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, will you stop bickering while we’re having a moment?” Belle squeezed them one last time before letting go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the background, Hilary, Arne and Hyung were discussing the next course of action and Sophie had looked away to give them some privacy. Oliver did not have the same qualms and was unabashedly staring. Eddy guessed he might not be used to seeing this side of Brett. His childhood friend liked to play it cool, to build an unfazed expression and give the vibe of a reliable older brother. With Oliver being younger than him, he must have overplayed it a little bit, keeping the knight starstruck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It reassured him, strangely enough, that he had not been replaced. That he was still the only one who knew all there was to know about Brett Yang, who could bring out his most childish side, his dorkiness, his everything that he kept hidden from others’ perception. That three years apart from each other had not dulled the exclusivity of their relationship. Brett would mock-gag if he could hear how cheesy and needy he sounded, he realized with an amused snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So. I think the three of us will get going,” Hilary announced, cutting his stream of thought. “We will arrive at the camp late into the night, but I don’t think we can wait until morning to try and convince General Kernold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If worst comes to worst, we can also try and manually remove the gems scattered around the battlefield,” her bodyguard added and Eddy almost jumped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never heard the man talk even once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no use,” Hyung shook his head. “Those gems are everywhere already and if Glannish and Bellanian soldiers see you roaming around the valley just before the peace treaty happens, they’ll think you’re trying to sabotage it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well. Let’s be persuasive then,” she turned toward the rest of the room’s occupants. “Belle, Sophie, Oliver, I’m glad I met you all, it has been a pleasure playing or discussing with you. And, Brett? Eddy?” they both nodded at the same time. “In case I don’t see you again, I just wanted you to know; you two are a big part of the reason I still have my musicality. I was- a few years ago, I could feel it slipping away from me, and I heard you play Navarra together, one night, in the kitchen. You two seemed to have so much fun, even in those circumstances, it made me remember why I fell in love with the violin in the first place. So thank you. Thank you so much to both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no you’re-” Eddy started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?!” Brett cut him off. “I told you! I told you it was Hilary Hahn! I knew it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah okay, you were right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah! I knew I was!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon dude, it could have been anyone. You were right, but I wasn’t wrong to doubt-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter, I was right! Ah! Took like five years, but we finally got confirmation!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust you to get so attached to details like this. And it was six years ago, not five.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously? You counted?” Brett chortled. “Who’s attached to details now? And anyhow, this isn’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>detail</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This is Hilary Hahn hearing us play!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy was so busy arguing with his childhood friend he barely noticed when the subject of their discussion chuckled and shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you two will be fine. I hope I can see you again. Belle, we have higher chances of running into each other, I hope we can stay in touch, you’re a formidable pianist. Talent runs high in the family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry it stopped after me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what you deserve for not properly saying goodby to Hilary Hahn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Properly chastised, he realized how impolite his attitude was and Brett’s mind was on the same track if the blush on his cheeks was any indication. They extended their arm for a formal handshake but Hilary shook her head and hugged the both of them in a tight embrace, leaving Eddy smiling and Brett flustered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arne gave them a terse nod and Hyung bestowed one last look to Brett with a small smile, the longing in it unsettling something inside Eddy’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the door closed behind the three of them, and suddenly he felt depleted of any energy. His knees quivered, he blinked and fell back on one of the two simple beds of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should sleep,” he heard Brett say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My discretion spell should be strong enough to hide us through the night,” Eddy hummed. “But we’ll all have to stay inside this room and leave first thing in the morning. Ihedge is too close to the border, we might get discovered if we linger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I need to eat something first,” Sophie interrupted softly. “It should be safe for us to go downstairs and have dinner, no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” Belle answered. “Nobody in the Tower can cast a screening spell that can go to Ihedge, am I right?” Eddy nodded at his sister. “So as long as nobody from the army comes to physically look for us here, we should be fine for the evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea of food made his stomach churn and he grimaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go without me, I don’t think I can eat anything. The whole dematerialization thing fucked with my stomach I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Brett, are you coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’ll stay here too,” he answered quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bro, go eat,” Eddy groaned. “You’ve been in captivity for weeks. You must be starving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She fed me. I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brett, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>hungry. Just go eat something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I’m fine. I’m more sleepy than hungry anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy exhaled through his nose and frowned. He was supposed to be the stubborn one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, we’ll bring some food up for you, in case you change your mind,” Sophie suggested with a kind smile. “So you two can stay together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not- I’m just tired,” Brett argued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” she responded lightly before leaving with Belle and Oliver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The discretion spell shimmered around the group as they crossed it, and silence fell for the two remaining occupants. With soft words and tired steps, they moved around each other, taking a shower and rinsing their clothes as best as they could, getting used to having the other in their space again. They changed into the new clothes they had just bought in a small shop in Ihedge, since the shimmering coats and strange, pastel clothes worn by melomages were too noticeable. The wristbands stayed securely tightened during the whole process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy felt soft, clean, dry, comfortable and so, so tired. Too much had happened in such a short time, he had trouble to process it all. He rubbed his face with his hands, pushing back his wet hair away from his forehead, slapping his cheek to wake himself up a bit. His mind was trying to overthink, and before he could drown in his own jumbled thoughts, he took a breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only two things: Brett was alive, and he was out of the Tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brett is alive, and I’m out of the Tower.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alive, and I’m out of the Tower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” his best friend chuckled. “You’re out of the damn Tower and I’m alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other and shared an exhausted smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I brought you something,” Eddy remembered, padding to his violin case at the foot of one of the beds. “It’s really nothing, considering everything, but I just-” he shrugged and handed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard his friend swallow a disbelieving chortle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You brought me- is this a fucking shoulder rest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You asked for it,” Eddy replied defensively, shyness suddenly grappling at his insides. “It was the last thing you asked… I- I know it’s nothing but I just thought- I don’t know, it would make you a bit happy,” he ended up lamely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett was looking up at him, slowly shaking his head, mouth opening and closing, eyebrows tight, so many emotions going through his eyes, Eddy almost wanted to grab his violin to be able to feel every one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the dam keeping them inside broke and Brett just burst out laughing and cried at the same time. It was impossible to tell if his hiccups were sobs or guffaws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh- Fuck. You- You’re ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears streamed down his cheeks to melt in his smile, his tongue getting out to lick them and Eddy had half a mind to be offended but eventually chuckled and joined him, hand stilled clasped around the shoulder rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen you cry so much,” he whispered as he let Brett pry the gift from his finger, the weeping and giggling finally coming to an end, along with the litany of ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>punctuating it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so tired, so tired of it, Eddy, of everything,” he brought the shoulder rest to his chest and breathed in, drying his face with his free hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy was already snoring, curled up in a corner of a bed, when the others came back with a plate for him. Brett’s stomach growled at the sight of it and he downed it so fast he almost choked on the mashed potatoes, heat and food filling him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was starving. How lucky his childhood friend was asleep, or he knew he would have earned the </span>
  <em>
    <span>I-told-you-so </span>
  </em>
  <span>eyebrows. Belle’s mocking smirk was enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he finished, he could feel his eyelids drop and the conversation around him became distant, until all he could hear were the snores from Eddy and all he could see was how inviting the white sheets looked. Oliver’s voice was muted as he told Belle something about taking the floor. Before Brett could hear the end of his sentence, he had passed out next to Eddy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was very very wrong, hitting the back of Brett’s skull, tingling against his skin until he woke up with a gasp. Eyes blinking in the darkness, hands fumbling around the unknown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, he was still prisoner in the cave, then his fingers closed around sheets and a buzzing sound in his ear shook his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inn room. Ihedge. Eddy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sharp, white light of the moon cut a strip in the room, landing on his best friend. Through his best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s whole body was vibrating, shaking, unphasing, so fast he could see through him, the moonlight cutting his body to rest on the sheet underneath. Brett tried to grab him but his hand closed around nothingness, as if he only was an afterimage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck! Eddy! Wake up! Please wake up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbled out of bed, hands trembling and heart in his throat. He knocked the light on and put his glasses on his nose. It was even worse. He could clearly see him vibrating to unknown frequencies, more and more out phase with this reality, each second making flicker out of existence a bit more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Belle! Belle! Wake up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha- Brett? What’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddy! It’s Eddy! Please someone, do something!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle and Sophie got up from the bed they shared as Oliver groggily woke up from the floor, but he barely registered it, hands fluttering uselessly above the faltering form of his best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t lose you. Please. No, no, no, no, no- I can’t lose you again-” he panicked, trying to touch him, only for his fingers to go through him. “Fuck! Fuck you’re an idiot! Stay with me, Eddy! Stay with me, please! How do I save you? Belle, how do I save him? What can I do? What can I do? Fuck!” he was tearing at his hair, hands cold and clammy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His foot knocked against the shoulder rest on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Play something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He staggered to his violin case, pushing a useless Oliver out of the way. Grabbed his instrument. Almost dropped it from how sweaty and shaky his hands were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what he was doing as the bow lowered itself on the strings. Navarra came out of him before his brain caught up. Red threads burst out of him, uselessly dancing as they found no ennemis, tentatively reaching out to the body flickering in and out of existence. He had never played this piece to thread. Ever. His bow was hitting the strings too heavily, the sound scratched his eardrums. He was going so fast, so loud, finger memory taking over as he closed his eyes. A kitchen in the night. Giggles. Wrong notes and bad rhythm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lightness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Happiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It tingled in his heart, a whisper of reverence that wasn’t from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realized he had forgotten to breath and open his eyes as he gasped, oxygen running, making him dizzy, and Eddy had stopped disappearing. Vibrating at the same rhythm as Brett’s playing, each string crossing settled him in this reality, gave him more consistency, until the light bounced off him, instead of cutting through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phrase ended, Brett lowered the violin from his neck, handed it haphazardly to Sophie and ran to him to try and touch him once again. His hand met skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - 21st of September - 2:03 p.m</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>At the valley of the war, where the grey stone met the red dirt, even redder stones glinted as two generals shook hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a low vibration, two, three notes, low and circling the confused men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then everything blew up, red and grey mixing in the smoke rising in the sky.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here it is! I don’t know when the next installment will come, probably not in a long time since it is an interlude, and interludes are fast to write. Thank you to everybody who takes the time to leave a comment or a kudo! Since writing this fic is very time consuming, I always get a lot of encouragement from knowing it is read and appreciated :)</p><p>(Someone also gave me a prompt for another short fluffy piece after TwoSet last’s video about Brett teaching adult beginner!Eddy, so this might come up too)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Hyung (This needs to be done)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He stood in silence, heart safely tucked away behind duty.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, so, I’ve changed up the number of chapters once again, and this time I should stand by it, it’s taken me quite a while to update this story, and I still need to start typing the next actual chapter, but I had to take some time to sit down and plan out the rest of the fic. Now, every chapter up to the 28th has been planned, but sometimes the story escape my control, so expect one or two supplementary chapters to be added just in case (by chapters, I mean, ao3 chapters, so that takes into account interludes, prologues, epilogues and letters. In terms of <em>actual</em> chapters, there are 13 planned.) I don’t know if I’m making any sense. Anyway, the point is: There’s still some chapters to go. </p><p>Thank you Ria for beta reading &lt;3 enjoy a bit of angst, I listened to Preisner’s Lacrimosa on a loop while writing this (and the next interlude too, my interludes are quite angsty lately).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Hyung (This needs to be done)</span>
</h1><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - 21st of September - 1:43 p.m</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>He stood in silence, heart safely tucked away behind duty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had locked it all up; Brett’s determined eyes, his fingers shifting over the strings, the corner of his lip twitching up as he nailed a passage. Buried inside his chest the memory of the first time he got to talk to him without Eddy around, how easy it had been to befriend him. How funny and open he had been. How passionate his music was, how he vibrated with life, with an energy Hyung found himself wrapped in and never wanted to let go of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He refused to ponder over the fact that he had barely been able to get a glance from the object of his affections since Eddy had come back. That he had slowly faded to the background, never standing a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Brett was safe - away from the valley where death reeked - free from the Bellaninan spy, free to live the life he wanted with the person who could make him happy the most, a bitter ease settled in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was relieved, in a way, not to be that person that could bring a smile to his lips with nothing but a whisper of his existence - he quashed it, the memory of Brett’s smile, slashing at his heart with the softness it bore, fingers going over the artefact his best friend had carved with reverence - because he didn’t know what he would have chosen, ultimately, between heart and duty. But Eddy would always choose Brett, without a sliver of doubt; so things were good as they were, he guessed - if he ignored the vitriol at the back of his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody else mattered, now. Only his country. Only Surie’s peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He observed as the General and his men geared up in their shining uniforms, ready to cross the valley, to try and put an end to this war.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t feel sad for him, he remembered. This needed to be done. Everybody would soon realize melomages were losing their powers, and it would be the end, with all those enemies pressed at every border. A single peace treaty with two nations that would betray it in a blink when they would understand the new power imbalance would not solve their problems. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The higher-ups had it all planned already, he just had to follow the orders. It had been so easy; to convince General Kernold to go to his doom. To sneak in the general’s tent after Hilary’s speech. To give the missive, signed by the hand of the Emperor himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Those negotiations are of the utmost importance -</span>
  </em>
  <span> it just said. And the general didn’t refuse. How could he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Hyung stood in silence, counting the minutes. And when 2 p.m came by, nothing happened. No wave from the Tower, no melody carried by the winds. Eddy and his friends had succeeded in overthrowing the concert, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter, he knew what he had to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind the burned bodies, at the edge of the valley, he could see the path of the red gems, glinting under the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no idea how many people were trapped in between the peaks of the mountain, how many would be buried between the red dirt and the grey rocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t be alive to see the consequences of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steeled himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lowered his bow.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had this planned for a while :) I think you can remember, in the Turning Point interlude with the Emperor, he mentions a cellist who helped them set off the explosion anyway. Well there you have it. </p><p>Thank you everyone who left a kudo :) I saw after my last chapter some of you left one and it warmed my heart.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 9: Travelers on a southern road</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Despite Brett’s silence at the start of the day, he had energized as the hours passed, his worry melting under the joy of being with his best friend again, Eddy guessed - because he felt the same. The letters and the wristband had been good substitutes, but nothing could replace being in the same space, speaking freely under the sky expanding, horizon stretching without walls under their eyes. They talked, words tumbling out of their mouths too fast, incomplete sentences and nonsense escaping sometimes, trying to catch up on everything without success. Gestures too wild, unused to be in such proximity again, hitting the other in their enthusiasm, barely mumbling a ‘sorry’ before going on about their latest thing they needed to share. They didn’t have any order, the stories coming out of them, messy and half finished, interrupting one another and ending up in bursts of laughter or exclamations. Even Oliver didn’t manage to insert himself in their discussion, no space between their bodies and minds for anyone but them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry it took me forever to get this chapter out. I just finished typing chapter 11, and it’s a freaking monster, it took me a whole week to type it (I was also distracted because I wanted to finish You bring music to my life before posting this).</p><p>Thank you Ria for beta reading all of this!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 9: Travelers on a southern road</span>
</h1><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 21st - 5 a.m</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>Dawn was tickling their hair as they exited the inn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy blinked as the soft light burned his retina and the singing of the birds scratched at his skin. His senses were a mess and reality was too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his hand around air and swore he could feel it vibrating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett kept glancing at him, every few seconds and he felt guilty of worrying him so much. He still had no idea what happened to him, he couldn’t remember anything until the vivid image of the very first time they had tried to play Navarra together burned inside his mind and he had opened his eyes to Brett sprawled beside the bed, swearing, sweat drying on his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had to have something to do with the Tower, with his travel through sound waves. Maybe he could only stay in this world through its noise, or was resonating with the magic coming from the Tower… There were a lot of possibilities worth exploring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped outside of a sleeping Ihedge, having only crossed paths with a few shop owners getting ready for the day, a teenager sneaking back into his room by the window, and two drunk men stumbling from a pub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have to go west if I want to go back to Prass. We’ll have to separate here,” Belle frowned and bit her lip as her eyes raked over him. “Brett, I trust you to make sure my little brother doesn’t disappear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His best friend nodded, eyes still red. He had barely spoken a word since Eddy had woken up. With both Sophie and Oliver being weirdly silent, the atmosphere was strange between the five of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where should we go?” he asked his sister. “You said you had an idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave them a bitter smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. Mom will kill me for this but-” she breathed in. “Lao Ang,” she said in the next expiration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lao Ang? As in the eastern country on the other side of Glanne? Damn! I’ve always wanted to go there, it looks so fascinating. I heard they’re one of the oldest civilizations of the world!” Oliver started jumping up and down as Eddy sent him a quizzical look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided to ignore the weird knight; it must be a common occurrence, since Brett was content to pinch the bridge of his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Belle? Mom hates Lao Ang. She always said we didn’t come from there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t. We are from Dewen but you can’t go there. We have family in Lao Ang though, this is one of the only safe places I can think of, and maybe they know something that could bring Eddy back to normal. I remember, when I was a little girl, before we left for Surie, a lot of people in our family could make things happen with her music. It wasn’t exactly like melomages here but they definitely know about the link between magic and music. Oh, but don’t tell anyone that you’re from Dewen, pretend to be Angish when you’re there; there’s history between the Angish and the Dewenise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you- Why are we only learning about this now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our parents were determined to put the past behind, and leave Dewen and Lao Ang as far from our families as possible. But with things in the state they are now… Anyway. As Oliver said it, Lao Ang is East of Glanne and Bellani-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I’ve seen maps,” Eddy quipped back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well, smart ass. But I’m sure you also know you can’t possibly cross any of those countries since we are at war against them, so you’ll have to go south, cross a bit of Spangel, until you reach the sea and take a boat for Lao Ang. That’s what we did- I mean, in the other direction but, that’s the path we took when we immigrated here. Go there, and look for Yixuan Zhao, she’s Mom’s older sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- huh- This seems like a very vague plan… Go South until we find the sea, somehow board on a ship sailing east, land in Lao Ang, and try to find a single person with just a name, in a very, very big country...” Eddy bit his nail and frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The immensity of the world seemed daunting, all of a sudden. The last time he had seen the sea, he had been four, the last time he had been in another city than Prass, he had been five, the last time he had been out of the Tower, he had been eleven. The sky was heavy in its infinity, and the earth seemed to never stop, stretching and stretching with so many possibilities, so many people, so many languages, so many cities, too much of everything while he knew about nothing but music. His heart was not strong enough to pump the blood he needed in his organs, a small and scared thing crushed by the weight of the unknown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t hot, the breeze of a September morning playing around them, but his hands were clammy, and his skin hot under the new clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be okay,” Brett said, and his voice was soft but reverberated inside Eddy’s panicked mind, grounding him back into reality. “We’ll make it. Let’s do this, Eddy. Let’s leave this fucking country behind us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked so certain. Confident in the way he stood, straight back and firm gaze, brave heart ready to face everything, and there was no place he wouldn’t follow him to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sister shook her head with a smile. “Alright, this is my cue to leave. I believe in both of you, I’ll get our parents and try to convince them to come to Lao Ang with me. With some hope, Mom won’t be too stubborn and we’ll see each other there. If it can help you, Aunt Yixuan always loved the sea I think, so try looking in villages near the south coast of Lao Ang.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy fiddled with his right ear and undid the lock on the blue and silver jewel there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, take this. Since I made it, I should be able to feel it, like the one I made for Brett. So if we’re near each other, I can find you easier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivered. The cold seemed more biting without it and a wave of exhaustion made him blink, now that he wasn’t under the protection of the small spells embedded in the gem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You barely have any charms left on you,” his sister noticed as she took it, clasping it on her own ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well, at least I won’t stand out too much. I don’t think a lot of Surians go around covered in jewels anyway.” She seemed unconvinced, and Brett kept giving him worried glances. As much as he appreciates their concern, now wasn’t the time, so he turned toward the two other members of their group. “Sophie? Oliver? What are you two going to do? I don’t think returning to the front is a good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weren’t we going to Lao Ang with you?” Oliver blinked as if it was obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were we?” Sophie tilted her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where else would I go?” Oliver shrugged. “My father’s an asshole, and has completely submitted to the Emperor. Plus my older brother is the heir of the Ledbetter family, I’m nothing for them, that’s why they sent me to fight, despite the fact that I’m clearly not cut out for battle. If I came back they would just send me back to the army straight away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy couldn’t wrap his mind around the way this boy thought. Who would abandon their </span>
  <em>
    <span>country, </span>
  </em>
  <span>their </span>
  <em>
    <span>family </span>
  </em>
  <span>on a whim? For a place so far away, where they knew nobody and had no attachment, where no one would speak their tongue, in the company of a melomage they didn’t know three years ago, and a third one they had met the day before. But Oliver was free to make his own fate, he wouldn’t be one to judge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I come too?” Sophie asked, avoiding their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can do whatever you want, Sophie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t say anything more. He knew about the orphanage, about her having nobody, and it wasn’t his place to share this with the others. All he could do was look at her with silent understanding. Something else settled inside of him, from having those traveling companions. Sophie was calm, mature and clear headed, acting rationally where Eddy would panic and Brett improvise without thinking. Oliver wasn’t a melomage, he knew how the outside world worked, had lived and grew up in it, and his historical and cultural knowledge, despite its randomness, could be precious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A frowned marred Belle’s face as her eyes flickered between Sophie and the knight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? From what I remember, Lao Ang isn’t exactly… Welcoming of strangers, the country is pretty closed off. Brett and Eddy will not stand out, but you two, with the blue eyes, pale hair and white skin…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be okay, I’m not afraid of racism,” Oliver answered cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because you never had to live it,” Belle snapped back and Eddy wondered how he could have forgotten his sister could be scary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- huh- Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to anger you. You’re right, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind was blowing, messing up strands of their hair, ripping a shiver from the five of them. Belle shook her head, eyebrow furrowed by the weight of her judgment and there seemed to be history there. Eddy turned to Brett with questions in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, your sister never managed to like Oliver,” his best friend whispered in his ear, the warm press of his body against his side a relief from the cold wind. “I think he kinda made a move on her at one point, and he handled it badly. I still don’t know exactly what happened, but she’s been a bit snippy with him since then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re free to make your own mistakes, I guess. Just don’t be a dead weight on those two,” she pointed at them with her chin and in three steps was in front of them, arms open. “I’ll go now, I suppose our parents and I will see you all if we manage to find each other in Lao Ang. Stay alive, little brother, I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy melted in her embrace, it was unfair, how they never managed to stay together despite trying so hard, she seemed so much smaller now, barely reaching his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too. I wish you could come with us right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she gave him a pat on the back before retreating to give Brett a hug too. “Hopefully it won’t take seven years for us to see each other again. Goodbye, all of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She inhaled one time, keeping the oxygen in her lungs for as long as she could, before exhaling with a smile on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one last wave, she was off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 21st - noon</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>The world had awakened as they walked south. The sun brightened the white pebbles of the path despite the shade of the cypresses guarding the road, warming Eddy’s skin every time he came out of the shadow, caressing his cheeks with a tenderness he wasn’t used to. He hadn’t been able to feel the warmth of its rays, in the Tower. The clothes though; Brett didn’t seem to mind them but they felt rough on his skin, the bad quality scratchy compared to the silkiness of what he was used to, his arms movements restricted as he had threaded a discretion spell around them earlier this morning, safe from looks on a barn outside of Ihedge, the cows blinking as they heard Beethoven for the first time in their life, blue threads following the Moonlight Sonata’s softness to curl around them in protection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite Brett’s silence at the start of the day, he had energized as the hours passed, his worry melting under the joy of being with his best friend again, Eddy guessed - because he felt the same. The letters and the wristband had been good substitutes but nothing could replace being in the same space, speaking freely under the sky expanding, horizon stretching without walls under their eyes. They talked, words tumbling out of their mouths too fast, incomplete sentences and nonsense escaping sometimes, trying to catch up on everything without success. Gestures too wild, unused to be in such proximity again, hitting the other in their enthusiasm, barely mumbling a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘sorry’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>before going on about their latest thing they needed to share. They didn’t have any order, the stories coming out of them, messy and half-finished, interrupting one another and ending up in bursts of laughter or exclamations. Even Oliver didn’t manage to insert himself in their discussion, no space between their bodies and minds for anyone but them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Farmers had retreated from the heat of the zenith for their lunch break, five young men had been gathered a few meters away from the corn fields left of the road, messing around loudly as two of them were mock fighting with corn stems. The discretion spell shimmered away under Eddy’s command and Oliver skipped to them, his cheerful personality and Sophie’s nice smile seemed to charm them enough to offer the travelers to share their lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no worry,” one of them grinned, slapping another guy with light brown hair and freckles on the shoulder. “My mate Hans here can duplicate anything that’s made of wheat. He works at the bakery in Ihedge usually but we needed help for the harvest. He’s got one of the most useful gifts out there. Even with the soldiers raiding our village all the time and us being isolated, we never starved thanks to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it Thomas, it’s nothing special,” he blushed, but didn’t remove the hand still clasped on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The five of them were nice enough, bread and ham being passed around with banter, a bottle of wheat beer had been smuggled, duplicated by Hans under the cheers of the other guys, and soon everyone had more than enough to eat and drink. The young harvesters didn’t ask them any personal questions but kept staring at Eddy and him strangely; they probably had never seen anyone with their facial features, and Brett had throwback of their younger school years, when he hadn’t been twelve yet and the kids were giving them mean looks, keeping a wide berth around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something felt restless inside of him. He was better than that now, he thought. It had been almost a decade since then, the opinions that strangers made about him based on the shape of his eyes or the color of his hair shouldn’t matter. Despite this, a part of him still wanted to punch them until they turned their judgment away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at his best friend to see how he was faring but snorted when he saw him throw the beer a probing glare, his bad mood evaporating faced with Eddy’s obliviousness. He had done his fair share of drinking himself since he had come to the front three years ago - it was impossible not to, with knights downing anything they could to dull the harshness of war - but alcohol was an unknown substance in the Tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just take one or two sips and then give it to someone else, you don’t want to finish that if you’ve never drunk before, trust me,” he advised him with a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were sitting close, maybe closer than necessary, but the fear that had gutted him the previous night wouldn’t leave him alone and if getting the reassurance he was still there with him meant almost sitting on his best friend’s lap, he was okay with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, probably, I’ve read it can keep you from thinking clearly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s kind of the point actually. You’ll see, later, when we’re safe, I’ll make you discover the joy of being drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, Brett, what a bad influence, corrupting me with illicit substances,” Eddy snickered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bro, you’ve got a gift to make everything sound worse than it is,“ there was laughter in his voice as he nudged him. “Try the beer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched with mirth at the corner of his lips as his best friend took a sip and visibly fought to keep it in his mouth, face contorting as he swallowed, pushing his drink in Brett’s hand without hesitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s nasty. Never </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed and marveled once again at how easy it was. The conversation kept going around them, the guy named Thomas being loud and shaking Hans’s shoulder, while Oliver kept asking questions about corn culture and life at the border. When the boys learned Oliver came from the outskirts of Prass their interest doubled, and the knight found himself recounting what life in the capital was like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy had tried to tell him he didn’t feel like eating but Brett had forced him to take at least one loaf of bread since he hadn’t had any food in forever. Under his watchful glare, his best friend finished it with reluctance-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then jumped up and ran to the fields, a hand over his mouth. Everyone startled but Brett didn’t pay attention to their expletives, too busy running after him, disappearing behind the corns that stood taller than them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddy! What the fuck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no answer but panting and sobs, he pushed the stems barring his path, finding his best friend bent over, shaking and vibrating and- unphasing. Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck! Fuck I don’t have my violin! I-” he panicked, backtracking but Eddy’s hand shot out, trying to hold him there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers ghosted through Brett’s wrist who felt like crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No- do- lea- me,” Eddy’s voice was quavering, only one syllable out of two understandable. On and off. “Talk- me- ease-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk?” he repeated, waiting for his best friend’s nod before continuing. “Yeah. I can- I can do that. I can talk. What- what should I talk about? Oh fuck. I have no idea, it’s- you never have inspiration when you’re put on the spot like that. What is happening to you Eddy? I’m scared out of my shits, I don’t know what we can do to stop you from- from doing that. Are you going to disappear? You can’t, you hear me. You’ve got to stay here. We’ll go to Lao Ang, we’ll find help. We have to understand what’s happening to you, but you have to stay with me until we find out how. I won’t make it on my own anyway, I need you. I love you Eddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was ranting, barely paying any attention to the words rolling from his tongue, focused on the way his best friend flickered under his eyes, hands pressed on his stomach. And he could do nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure I shouldn’t go take my violin? Playing helped last time. You know what, I’m gonna go get it. I can’t- I can’t just stay there and watch you do- whatever it is you’re doing. Unphasing? Dying? Fuck! Don’t die please. Please don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had started to walk back, hesitant footsteps as he didn’t want to leave him, but was dying to have his violin under his hands. He was about to bolt to the place he had left his case, grab it and come back, when Eddy started retching. Beer and mashed bread pooling between corns; leaving his stomach between heaves and sobs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only when Brett’s palm started rubbing his back that he realized he could touch him. His best friend was no longer disappearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck. Are you with me Eddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barely,” he mumbled, voice feeble, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and making a face. “This was one of the worst experiences of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, you’ve literally been kidnapped for weeks in a cave by a dragon tamer in the middle of a war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get to decide what I feel worse about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Eddy chuckled weakly, and Brett wanted to hug him, so he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t, I’m gross; I stink puke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really care, we both smelled like death when you found me at the valley. Didn’t stop us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddy sighed but relented, arms closing around his shoulders, and he could feel his tears against his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got to do something. This can’t keep happening,” Brett whispered. “I won’t survive the next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being dramatic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not. I’m very serious, I can’t take it,” his hands pressed him closer, trying to anchor him with his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the food was a bad idea. I don’t think- I mean, I’m not sure, I don’t understand what’s happening to me, but I don’t think my body can support it. I’m really not hungry either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you feed off then? Sound?” he scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddy, I was joking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no that’s definitely worth exploring-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey? Are you two okay? You’ve been gone for a while,” Thomas yelled as he pushed some corn around, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the two men hugging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They let go of each other and Brett rubbed his eyes under his glasses, somehow feeling caught doing something he shouldn’t have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I just had a bad reaction to something, I’ve got a fragile stomach. Sorry I puked in your fields.” Eddy answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not my fields, mate. My friends and I are just helping for the harvest in exchange for some coins from the farmer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if you’re feeling better that’s cool, hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them stood, yellow from the corn instead of the sun shining on their faces, and the silence was heavier than it should. Thomas’s gaze kept travelling between them, shifting his weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know… I was thinking about becoming a knight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Good for you,” Brett blinked, not seeing where this was going. “But war is a bitch, you should know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I don’t want to do it for the glory or the country or whatever. I just want to be able to protect Ihedge. We’re so close to the border, there’s so much that could go wrong, and none of us are fighters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get you, but I don’t know why you’re telling us this, we’re just two guys. We’ve got nothing to do with the army,” he lied, trying to stamp on the panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were they that obvious? Oliver was walking around with his sword, but lots of people had swords - they were at war after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah that’s not-” the young man blushed and racked a hand through his hair. “The thing is- I don’t just want to protect my village. I want to protect </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned, this discussion was getting more confusing by the minute, but then he felt Eddy chuckle at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” he said with the smugness of someone who had understood what others didn’t. What Brett didn’t, in this instance. “If you want to ask for advice, I’m sorry but Brett and I aren’t a couple, so there’s not much we can help with regarding Hans. From an outsider perspective, he seems quite attached to you though, so good luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooooh,” Brett understood now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for assuming, about you two I mean. You just seemed close and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas! Thomas!!“ another one of the guys burst into the fields. “We’ve got to go back! There’s smoke coming from Ihedge. Something is wrong!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett and Eddy looked at each other and ran from the isolation provided by the corn. Oliver and Sophie were already staring at the red and grey cloud rising from the border.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time is it? Do any of you have the time?“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- huh- tw- two in the afternoon,“ Hans answered after fumbling with a pocket watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Sophie, Oliver, Brett and Eddy said at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to go, Eddy. Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed frozen, gaze not leaving the grey smoke rising from the mountain, pain growing in his irises and Brett was growing restless. The five teenagers had left already, running back toward their village.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Eddy, move,” he tried again, pulling on the sleeve of his brown jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brett, I- all those people- do you- do you think?” he never finished his thought. “We all tried to stop this and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know this is fucked up! I’m- I’m so pissed! This should never have happened and whoever was part of that plan needs to get their priorities straight. None of this is okay! But we have to get out of this country before it all goes even more wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddy,” Sophie added, compassion oozing from her frame. “Right now, you have to think of yourself. We are alive, the four of us. Your sister is alive, your mother too, and your best friend is by your side. Focus on that, you have to live, to get away. For everyone who cares about you. Plus if anyone in Lao Ang can fix you, we have to go, before this country implodes and everything is over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please. I won’t have you disappear on me,” Brett added, his hand still closed around his friend’s sleeve, tugging again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he ran a hand through his hair, breathing once. “Okay. Okay, you’re right, I can’t- I can’t deal with this right now, anyway. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left, the smoke and the mountains high in the sky, behind their back.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It’s a very calm chapter, not a lot happening, but they deserve some rest, hey. It makes up for the angst of the interludes xD (get ready for more angst on the next one)</p><p>I hope you enjoyed it :)</p><p>Also! I had completely forgotten TwoSet had a cellist friend named Oliver in real life when I started writing this story, so just in case, for disclaimer’s sake my Oliver Ledbetter is 100% OC and has nothing to do with real life Oliver :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Arne (I’m grateful I met you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’m grateful I met you,” he confided against her lips.</p><p> </p><p>He had rarely spoken so much in one go.</p><p> </p><p>This was tiring, he thought, mind drifting. He was glad he would never have to do it again.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey sorry I haven’t updated in a while :) the story is getting more and more complicated, and while I like it, part of me is almost reluctant to start diving into the writing of the last chapters which are freaking plot and action heavy, so I’ve been postponing writing for two weeks now, because I know once I start it’s going to be long long days of writing non stop for me. (Also, I’ve recently discovered the Banner Saga, and I’ve been playing that in my free time instead of writing. Very good game)</p><p>Thank you so much Ria for the beta reading :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Arne (I’m grateful I met you)</span>
</h1><h1>
<br/><br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 21st - 14:18</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
<br/><br/><br/>
</h1><p>
  <span>He coughed once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood splattered on the person underneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was crying, her hands holding his cheeks, fingertips roughened by years of playing. There was an ugly gash on her arm, and he hoped it wouldn’t stop her from using her violin. Words were leaving her mouth but he couldn’t hear them, the explosion still ringing in his ears, blood was probably coming out of them too. He would be sad about the perspective of never hearing his wife make music again if he wasn’t so sure he was dying anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was okay in his books. He was a bodyguard, his job was to protect her with his life, and even if he hadn’t been, he was her husband, he had no reason to be alive if she wasn’t.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could still see it, blinking sluggishly through the pain; the water, spreading for miles behind the church in Constantine, the flowers in her hands, spilling on the floor because he had made too many bloom, the bells in her laugh as she tried to keep them from falling. There was nothing special in that small village, apart from the lake and their marriage, but he had never forgotten a single stone of that place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingers tightened around him, bringing him back to the present; she was still crying, her lips moving around the words ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Present was shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smoke was still rising, and drops of his blood disappeared in the red earth, some people were still moving. Most of them weren’t. He should have expected it; the army always had a backup plan, he should have stopped her from coming here, once General Kernold had refused to listen to her, he should have argued, for once in his life, instead of just following her with silent disapproval. But she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so stubborn,</span>
  </em>
  <span> uttering that everyone would have a better chance of surviving if she was there, threading protections.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t been enough, but the few people rising from the dust owed it to her, every single soul that would make it out of this valley alive should have </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hilary Hahn </span>
  </em>
  <span>imprinted on their skin as a life debt. She was so- God he loved her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his gaze to his left. The violin case was still in one piece. Good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think,” he tried to speak, but couldn’t hear his own voice. “I think your violin is safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, brown strands of hair flowing with the movement, hypnotic. He could read it on her lips - </span>
  <em>
    <span>it doesn’t matter - </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t your fault,” he said again. “You always try to save everyone, with a smile on your face, I love you for that. Don’t be mad at yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no idea how much of that was understandable, between the coughs and the heaviness of his tongue, the ringing never stopping. She had brought out so many layers in him, took him out of his role as a bodyguard to make a human being of him. She was the woman who spoke to the fishes of the lake on their wedding day, the high mage who could destroy armies but would rather spend her days practicing Bach and Mozart in a room, the woman who had risked everything for two boys because she was fond of their passion for music, the woman who made him </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen </span>
  </em>
  <span>to the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m grateful I met you,” he confided against her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had rarely spoken so much in one go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was tiring, he thought, mind drifting. He was glad he would never have to do it again. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah, I know, all that waiting for such an angsty and short chapter xD</p><p>I don’t know when the next chapter will be up, because, like I said, I kind of dread the heaviness of the next chapters, just so much to write. Half of me almost want to go over it quickly and be done with them, but I don’t want this story ending on crappy, half assed chapters, because I’ve invested too much already. </p><p>Just now that every single kudo and comment motivates me :) (literally every time I see one, I want to keep typing and give you a good end)</p><p>Also, since Ria hadn’t understood when she beta read it for the first time, in case you have any doubt, yes, Arne is dead (she literally had to go to over my future chapters’ note and see me talking about Hilary having to get over Arne’s death to understand what happened in this interlude xD)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 10: Whatever we want</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“We are leaving. We are leaving the harbor, Eddy. That’s it,” Brett whispered, voice tight. </p><p>“We are…”</p><p>“This is crazy…”</p><p>A giggle escaped them, bodies drawing near, unable to process anything.</p><p>“Fuck,” Brett ran a hand through his hair. “We are free.”</p><p>They laughed again, a bit unhinged, they were so close by now, Eddy barely had to extend his arm to grab his best friend in a tight hug, rolling him over until he was on top of him.</p><p>“We did it,” he mumbled in his hair. “We escaped Brett, we made it.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here, take some fluff to compensate for the previous interlude :)</p><p>Thank you so much for the words of encouragement, I really appreciate it! I got back into my writing groove and the next chapters are progressing smoothly.</p><p>Thank you Rita for the beta reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 10: Whatever we want</span>
</h1><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - 23rd of September</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They had walked for two days straight now, corn leaving the place to empty fields, freshly sowed, carrying the smell of wet earth. They were so far down in the countryside they hadn’t crossed paths with anybody, apart from farmers seeding their lands. Their strange group - with three people holding on instrument cases, two of them with foreign looking features and the fourth one in a knight uniform - would have attracted a few looks, if they weren’t safely hidden behind a discretion spell, though Eddy thought it was less and less useful, they were almost at the east-southern border now, the chances of a detection spell reaching them from the Tower were almost non existent, and nobody had came after them, probably too busy dealing with the aftermath of that explosion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It all felt so far away from Prass, from the Tower, from the war; this peaceful and farming space, like nothing they had known before. They slept on the side of the road, the others ate the leftover bread the five young men had left behind two days ago, or scraps the peasants could spare, as Eddy looked at the blue sky, at the grey clouds, at the green sprouts growing and felt out of touch with this world. As if everything was moving too slowly when worry was still gnawing at his guts. For his sister, for his mother, for the friends they had left behind, for this country, for themselves</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Each morning, when he grabbed his violin and played, threaded anew the protections around them, he could feel his worry echo inside of Brett, mingled with care and relief, and a hint of something hotter. And when he lowered his instrument, eyes tracking the last shimmer of magic around them, then falling on the face of his best friend - a shared smile, poor expression of the intensity of the feelings they had passed to each other - something settled inside of him, grounded him in this reality. The reminder that they were both alive and together, and that, above all else, this was what they should care about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - 25th of September</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The city drew near, the last one before they found themselves in Spanglan territory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Naicam Aux Bathsou, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oliver declared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he quizzes himself about every little town that exists when we all sleep so he can impress us afterward?” Eddy whispered in his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett snickered and the smile that sneaked on the face of his best friend - all proud he had made him laugh - awoke happy feelings in his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something different. He couldn’t remember if it had always been there and he had just forgotten during the three years they had been apart, or if it was a new thing, brought by the relief of having him by his side, happy every second to see him on the periphery of his vision when he could disappear at any given time. It was a shortness of breath whenever he turned his eyes and Eddy was there; taller than in his memories, wilder hair, wider shoulders. It was a twitch in his hands whenever he could feel his warmth against him, wanting to grab and to pull closer. It was a dryness in his throat, when their bodies rested close in the dead of the night and he couldn’t sleep, afraid Eddy would disappear on him again, but his brain kept feeding him with memories of their teenage selves moaning against each other’s lips in the corner of a dark kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt like a small miracle to have him there, and he wanted to drown in it, to never let go, violent need mingling with the fear of hurting him by pressing too hard. Of seeing the shards of him disappear in the winds, whispering his name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They crossed the gates of the city, the sign at the entrance displaying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Naicam Aux Bathsou, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Oliver pumped a fist in the air with a victorious </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ha!”, </span>
  </em>
  <span>pride etched in his features. Sophie shook her head and they chuckled at the childishness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The city wasn’t big. Bigger than Ihedge, for sure, but nothing to do with the bustling life and noise of Prass. The liveliest place was an old coliseum falling into ruin at the center, groups of people sitting on the stone steps, old ones staring at youngsters playing around, busy adults working, barely sparing a glance at the other generations. Brett hadn’t seen so many civilians since he had left the capital, and his battered body felt a new wave of energy, surrounded by all this life. Noise was vibrating around them, and Eddy seemed more settled in his skin, losing that air of fragility he had carried during their days in the countryside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” his best friend established. “So, several things; first the three of you eat, then we look for an inn to shower and try to catch on some proper sleep,” he threw an accusatory glance at the dark circles under Brett’s eyes who shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With which money do you intend to do that?” he just replied. “Melomages don’t get paid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do!” Oliver chipped in. “Plus my family is filthy rich, I’ve got tons of money. It’ll be useless as soon as we cross the border though, since Spangel doesn’t have the same currency as Surie, but I’ve still got a bunch of jewels and stuff we can sell there if the needs arise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it wasn’t a complete mistake to take you with us,” Brett snorted to a mock offended Oliver.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finding a restaurant wasn’t hard, but being allowed inside one was another matter. Business owners kept throwing them distrustful glares, and rage climbed inside Brett’s body when he saw Eddy’s heart drop in his eyes at each rejection. How hard should he sake them to make them realize that not having the same eye shape didn’t make them </span>
  <em>
    <span>different?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They ended up in a small establishment, at the corner of a street on the outskirts of Naicam. The woman owning it had the same skin color as Master Deauclaire, but the similarities stopped there. Where Master Deauclaire had a unique softness to her face, worn down by the weight of war and her responsibilities, thin body complying to the beauty standard of blonde Prassian women, this one had a permanent smirk to her lips, a drawling accent, curves and a rolling of her hips that spoke of a life spent not giving a fuck what others thought. She was from another continent, Argand, she told them, so far south nobody talked about it, placed it on their map and forgot about it. Her place in Naicam was a haven for anybody too different for the close mindedness of Surie, and it reminded Brett a little bit of the Tower, where nobody was judged by their face but by their playing, their voice or their magic. The restaurant was small, served as a cafe and a pub at the same time, with only three tables, and stools in front of the bar, facing a television that looked like nobody with a proper communication gift had touched in a while. It was late enough in the afternoon nobody else apart from the owner was there, as they talked around a plate of something so spicy tears were rolling down Oliver’s cheeks</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should try to find another way of traveling than by foot,” Eddy mentioned, watching them eat. It still disturbed Brett, that his best friend didn’t need meals anymore, some part of him - the hungry part - craved to just shove food down his throat, but the memory of the form flickering out of existence under his eyes kept him from it. “It took us five days of walking almost non stop just to reach the southern border, and we still have to cross Spangel to get to a port. I don’t know Spangel’s geography that well,” Oliver opened his mouth. “Nor do I need to.” Oliver closed his mouth. “But it’s going to take us weeks to get to the ocean with this rhythm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I agree,” Sophie hummed, “We are so close to the border, I’m sure despite the skirmishes between our countries, merchants are still doing commerce, maybe we could ride in the cart of some of them going South.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, also,” Oliver started pushing his fringe back. “I heard, since Spanglan people don’t have gifts or magic to propel their carts, they use Glanne’s technology and their carts self-propel! Isn’t that amazing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually?” Eddy opened his mouth in awe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s cool, so we can have a glimpse of Glanne’s famous technology without even having to go there!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett tuned their nerdy conversation off, glancing at Sophie, sitting beside him - a part of his brain still focused on Eddy on the periphery of him, checking he was still well - her fingers were tapping the edge of the table with too much rhythm to be hazardous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miss the piano?” he asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Yes,” she chuckled with a hint of shyness hidden in its vibration, her fingers stopped, self conscious. “It’s a bit silly I know, especially since I still have my violin but… Piano is different to me. It’s- it feels more, more </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And with the circumstances and everything, this is the last thing I should miss but- yeah. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to apologize, hey. I get it. Why are you coming with us to Lao Ang, if you don’t mind me asking? Don’t you have a family in Surie?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- No. They died.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy glanced up from his discussion with Oliver when he heard the expletive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay, I don’t remember, I was very young. I’ve been in the foster system of my city, near the Rangan border, I learned the piano there, and the day I turned twelve, men from the Tower came and took me to Prass, so, nothing different from most of the kids there. But I don’t really have anything to return to. No family to miss me, and no skills outside of music.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy kicked him in the shins with a reproachful expression when he realized what Brett had asked, to which he raised his shoulders with a shake of the head - </span>
  <em>
    <span>I had no idea - </span>
  </em>
  <span>it said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, kids,” the owner said, her accent dragging out the syllables. “I think you should look at the TV, the Emperor has been making a speech for some time now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all turned toward the screen with a startle, the bad quality of the video showing the imperial palace, a man no older than thirty standing in front of it, and- was that Master Omon on his right? Hard to say with how grainy the image was. Eddy’s hand was closing around his own, and Brett could feel the pulse ricocheting under his skin. He squeezed it once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And this is why, despite the whole nation mourning-” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Emperor announced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did we miss?” Eddy asked the woman from Argand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just some bullshit about Glanne and Bellani betraying our poor asses. Apparently they’re the ones who made that big explosion happen at the eastern border.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>-But we are not without solutions,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Emperor kept speaking.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “In the face of this unprecedented crisis, there is something I would like to reveal. About what is going on in the Tower. All of you, who had children taken away from you, it is time I tell you what happens to them. Why do you think the war has always been in our favor, despite having so many ennemies? Why do you think no dragon managed to attack Prass? Why do you think so many of you can enjoy your life without feeling the effects of war? Let me show you, people of Surie, some unique individuals, gifted beyond reason. Master, if you please.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>Master Omon,” Brett mumbled under his breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The old man took a few steps forward, opening a black case in which his oboe rested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Sophie realized. “Do you… Do you think he’s going to play? Like thread?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” Brett whispered back, as he observed the master position the instrument against his lips, a badly transmitted version of Mozart’s oboe concerto coming from the speaker behind the television.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt completely surreal, watching the orange, thick threads dance on a TV screen, out of the Tower, in the center of Prass, on television. Knowing in a matter of days, everyone would know about melomages. The joy of Mozart’s light notes contrasting with the foreboding feeling growing in him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a shield,” Eddy muttered. “He’s threading a shield... I know where this is going.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Emperor got his sword out with a flourish as Master Omon finished his phrase. The blade fell on the old master, and gasps could be heard in the crowd. The shield did its job, of course it would, Master Omon was the one who had taught it to almost every student at the Tower, the one responsible for the shield protecting Prass, a single bit of forged metal could never damage it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the power of people called melomages!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Emperor roared, rising his sword above his head. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>And your children, all those who have been taken, have this power. It had been nurtured under the care of this state, and now they are the one who can save us from countries like the Kingdom of Bellani and their dragons who have burned down our villages, like the Republic of Glanne who thought they could make us submit with their heavy metal weaponry, from the Empire of Rangan and the armies gathering at our western border. They can make a shield so powerful, all of Surie will be protected, every single person, every village, every city, every-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to go,” Eddy said, getting up, dragging Brett by the hand still clasped around his own. “We need to cross the border before it is too late.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If we get recognized as melomages and seen as deserters when the country supposedly needs us, it will be bad, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he didn’t say, but the light in Sophie’s eyes told Brett she had understood too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand fell on his shoulder, enough force behind it to sit him back down on his chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wait, young man,” the woman drawled. “All of you, kids, you’re like that old man, aren’t you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Oliver raised his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shoulda figured,” she raised an eyebrow after assessing him. Brett followed Eddy’s and Sophie’s example by staying silent. “C’mon, I told you when you came in, difference is always accepted here. And the news said you’ve done some good for this country that treated you like shit. I’m not about to be mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett took a breath and forced himself to relax, his thumb going in slow circles over Eddy’s wrist to calm him down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright. What do you want then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She burst out laughing, loud and boisterous, almost shaking the foundation of her establishment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I want nothing from you kids. But you, you want to get outta here to Spangel, I heard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you always listen to your customers’ conversations?” he snapped back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only when they’re as interesting and singular as yours,” she stood unfazed as Brett glared at her, the smirk never leaving her lips, her brown eyes traveled over their joint hands and she shook her head with a guffaw. “Don’t give me that look, boy, I wanna help you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cause I can. Why would I need a reason?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was taken aback, opening and closing his mouth without sound. On the television, the Emperor was still talking, but nobody in the room was listening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How, then?” he finally asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where d’you think I got those spices from, in this country where the food is as bland as Surians’ white asses? I got them delivered from Spangel. I can find you a place on the cart of my supplier when he goes back down South.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When would that be?” Sophie asked. “If their shield can reach Surie’s border, that means detection spells can also work this far South. This is bad for us-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should be okay, Sophie,” Eddy interrupted, with the frown he usually had while thinking on his face. “It takes considerable energy to have a spell extend that far, they were willing to do it for the 21st, or for this shield of theirs, but they’ll never bother for a simple detection spell, they think we’re dead anyway, no reason to look for melomages here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get all your babblings,” the woman answered with an impressive roll of her eyes. “But my supplier’s comin’ here the day after tomorrow, and then they directly go back to Port Magreda, South of Spangel. So if you can stay here two more nights, you’ll have a ride.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much,” Sophie rose from her chair and grabbed the hand of the woman. “What is your name, if you don’t mind?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kapera.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Last name?” Oliver asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just Kapera,” she snorted at him. “Now, maybe you should all hop in the back and take a damn shower, you stink.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Eddy shook his head. “We can’t impose ourselves on you like this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Boy, if you think a single inn is going to accept you, you’re dreaming. Your blond friends might get a room, but for you and your companion here, that’s a big no. I didn’t fight tooth and nail to open this place just to see foreigners sleep in the street like I had to do in the beginning.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Brett accepted, squeezing his best friend’s hand with a glare, now was not the time for excessive politeness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. That’s good. Now go at the back, that’s where I live. Don’t think of stealing anything, there’s nothing of value, but you can use what little I own. There’s a room for guests and a shower. I usually only host one or two people at a time though, so you might be a little tight, but that should do. Doesn’t seem like you mind the close contact,” she snorted at them and Brett had to fight down a blush, because this was ridiculous, of course, he didn’t mind the close contact, they had been best friends forever, there was no reason to get flustered. “Evening rush will start soon here, so I won’t be there for quite a while-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can help with the restaurant!” Sophie piped in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can give you money, too,” Oliver added.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want your gold, blond boy, but I don’t mind a hand. Come back when you’re freshened up and I’ll tell you what to do. Later you can tell me a little bit about your story, I’ve got a good feeling it’s gonna be entertaining.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you play regular music, without making any of that string mojo?” Kapera asked as they cleared up the tables, night already settled, the last patron finishing a glass of clear alcohol.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes! Definitely, that’s how we all started. I love playing just for the sake of it,” Eddy smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can take song requests from the guests then, tomorrow, it’ll liven up the place a little bit to have sound that doesn’t come from the TV.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We would love to,” Sophie smiled. “That’s such a small thing for all the help you’re giving us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, sure kids,” she dismissed Sophie’s remark with a swipe of her hand but hesitated. She bit her lower lip and let her fist rest against her hip. “Hey, say, if you didn’t know a song, but I could sing it to you, could you play it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got perfect pitch, so this shouldn’t be a problem,” Eddy said with too much smugness, and Brett sighed so hard Kapera shot him an amused look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her song was deep, tapping her hands on the wooden surface of her bar, rhythm like none they had heard, head bobbing up and down as foreign words rose in the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s violin almost sounded strange on it, two worlds colliding together, but somehow, it fit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And they made music from a continent so far down South they had never heard about it before, feet hitting the floor in time, shoulders moving with it, Kapera’s voice giving them a glimpse of an unknown place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - 2nd of October</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been so smooth from then on, crossing through Spangel, olive trees, and vines littering the landscape, at the back of the huge cart of Kapera’s supplier. He didn’t ask many questions, just took them in, and focused on the road for three days straight, answering Oliver and Eddy’s inquiries about his engine and his trade, but never returned the curiosity. He didn’t just trade spices or food, his cart was full of wonders, trinkets from everywhere, and Brett even discovered a triangle, buried under two thick carpets full of red, orange, and green. Peacefulness had revealed to Eddy that, when there was no emergency, his best friend could still be an annoying asshole, as he would ring the triangle near his ear </span>
  <em>
    <span>every single morning </span>
  </em>
  <span>at seven sharp, cackling madly when Eddy would groan and try to hit him. Part of him suspected though, that Brett still couldn’t sleep, and that he was making too much noise during the night to be sure Eddy wouldn’t unphase, so he couldn’t find it in him to be pissed. He only had one incident, during a calm day, nobody talking, his eyelids heavy as he closed them, enjoying the silence around him and the sun on his face. Next thing he knew, Brett was furiously playing, bringing him back in a flurry of notes and feelings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since then, Oliver had started speaking even more than usual, always maintained the steady buzz of conversation, and his friends had organized a sleeping schedule to always have someone watching over him; but he knew, gaze fleeting over the dark circles marring his best friend’s face, that this didn’t stop Brett from waking up sweating at least three times every night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had arrived at Port Magreda so much faster than anticipated, without a single setback, and Eddy’s hope surged again in his chest. He had even started thinking everything would be fine, that they could make it. They had escaped the Tower, they had escaped Surie, they had arrived at the very South, the sea they barely remembered licking the hull of ships, dark and threatening in the night, as ropes sang when they hit masts. The harbor was bustling with life; people yelling and screaming at the docks in a language they didn’t understand, tanned skin and darker hair than what they were used to, children playing in the streets, the smell of fish and seaweed mixed with the spiciness wafting from food stands. The harbor was a cultural mix that had nothing to do with the Tower, where everything was white and sterilized, the same clean and shimmering clothes worn by all. Here, it was dirty and chaotic, different faces yelling in different languages, colors exploding even in the darkness of the evening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been easy enough to find a ship crawling with faces from Lao Ang, carrying silk out and loading in Glannish technology. Everything seemed to have been handed to them on a silver platter, so Eddy hadn’t expected that the Spanglan man guarding the ship they wanted to board would be their final obstacle. He had been shaking his head at everything they offered, stone-faced when Oliver showed every piece of jewelry and gold he owned, deaf to their supplications.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please! We need to go there!” Brett was pleading, but the man answered something harsh in Spanglan, something that sounded very much like </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t give a shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were starting to attract some attention, two Angish men arguing in Surian in a Spanglan city. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can- we can do things, look,” he got his violin out. “We can play music, we can entertain people!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guard snorted, looking at the instrument with contempt, he opened his mouth, but a feminine voice came from the ship, slashing through the noise of men loading boxes like a whip, ordering him something in a very accented Spanglan. In the darkness of the night, none of them could tell who it belonged to, but the stone-faced man obeyed and reluctantly moved to allow them onto the bridge leading to the boat. Eddy frowned, suspiciousness creeping at the back of his mind, and the worried angle of Sophie’s eyebrows told him he wasn’t the only one, but Brett was already dragging him, violin still in hand, the set of his jaw hard and determined.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lantern hanging high on the ship cast an orange glow on a woman, surrounded by three bodyguards, standing regal at the center of the ship, dressed in the finest clothes Eddy had seen; a purple, red and pink outfit pooling at her ankles, held at the waist by multiple belts of colorful fabric crossing over each other, the clothes of her shoulder covering the tattoo of a black and golden dragon curling around her neck and plunging lower. Her black hair was falling to her waist, straight and shiny, her dark lipstick the only touch of color on her face, and her slanted eyes held a cold interest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want to go to Lao Ang,” she stated in Angish, without any form of introduction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett and Eddy nodded furiously, as Oliver and Sophie shared a confused look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are welcome on my ship if you give me the violin. I haven’t seen one in a long long while,” she cut to the chase, chin pointing in the direction of Brett’s instrument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” the word left Eddy’s mouth before he could even think about it. Their violins were extensions of themselves and allowing this would be worse than allowing his best friend to lose a limb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then, get out of my ship, I don’t have time to lose on you,” she turned her back on them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait! Wait, wait, wait!” Brett shouted at her, eyes open wide in panic. She stopped and spared them a glance, patience running thin in the tightness of her lips. “Eddy, what are you doing?” Brett whispered in Surian, hand tugging at his sleeve. “Didn’t she offer us to stay if we played the violin for her?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinked. He had forgotten Brett’s Angish had never been that good, that he hadn’t bothered to practice it once they were in the Tower, and the hopefulness in his eyes hurt him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, Brett, no. She didn’t ask that, she wants- she wants to </span>
  <em>
    <span>take </span>
  </em>
  <span>your violin.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did you say no, then?” and before Eddy could say anything more, his best friend turned toward the woman, gathered all the trinkets and personal objects out of his case - Eddy spied his letters there - put the violin and bow back in, and handed it to her without a second of hesitation. “For you,” he said to the woman in accented Angish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good decision,” she nodded, taking the case. “You will be treated as my guests, Lan Pei, show them their cabins.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait!” Sophie exclaimed in Surian, extending her violin toward the woman. “You can take mine instead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman would not understand her words, but Sophie’s gestures were explicit enough to be recognized.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sophie, don’t-” Brett started.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want it,” the owner of the ship interrupted anew with a snort. “This one satisfies me plenty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she left with Brett’s violin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brett!” It was Eddy’s turn to be flabbergasted as his best friend was organizing his belongings in Eddy’s own violin case with a calm face. “Why did you do that? We would have found another way! Another ship! This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t even looking at him as he started walking behind Lan Pei; Sophie and Oliver following hesitantly, not quite sure of what was going on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need to even think about it. We need to go to Lao Ang if we can be safe there, if we can find a way to make you better, and this ship takes us there, then my violin holds no weight compared to that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Plus…” he whispered as they went downstairs, entering the bowels of the ship. “I’ve killed too many people with this violin. I don’t- I don’t really want to play it anymore, it just brings back bad memories,” he finally raised his head, gaze firmly planted in his, a smirk somehow finding a place on his face. “It’ll be like when we were kids, hey. One violin for the two of us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Eddy murmured back, unsure of anything that wasn’t the wave of love coursing through his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They laid on the bed, feeling the waves rocking the ship, and Eddy wondered if he was going to be sick despite his stomach being empty. The man had offered them each a separate cabin, which Oliver and Sophie had gracefully accepted, but Brett and Eddy had insisted on staying together. It was probably unhealthy, how much they needed to be in the other’s presence at all times, but the three years of separation and near-death experiences that they had both faced had left them too vulnerable, too scared of letting the other out of their sight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They would have time, Eddy thought, time spent not fearing for themselves or their loved ones, time not spent in urgency, time to find themselves again, as two separate individuals. But right now it was too much to ask of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The noise of men loading boxes of goods on the deck above their head had ceased now, and orders barked in Angish could be heard, followed by metal hooks clanking against the mast, the creaking of the wood, and finally, the ship moved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy turned his head toward his best friend to catch him already looking at him. They smiled at each other, and a surge of fondness almost choked him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are leaving. We are leaving the harbor, Eddy. That’s it,” Brett whispered, voice tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is crazy…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A giggle escaped them, bodies drawing near, unable to process anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Brett ran a hand through his hair. “We are free.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They laughed again, a bit unhinged, they were so close by now, Eddy barely had to extend his arm to grab his best friend in a tight hug, rolling him over until he was on top of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We did it,” he mumbled in his hair. “We escaped Brett, we made it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I want to cry,” Brett breathed on the skin of his neck, tickling him a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a new wave, rocking them together. His arms tightened their grip around his childhood friend, his eyes becoming wetter with every blink; they were here because of him, because he never backed away from anything, because he was so brave, because he was ready to do anything if it meant protecting his closed ones, protecting Eddy. And Eddy would follow him anywhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy, Eddy, Eddy, Eddy…. We are free,” Brett shook his head with a disbelieving chortle, looking drunk on lack of sleep and relief, rising on his elbows to face him, head hovering above his own. “Just think about it. Nobody is watching us, we don’t have to worry about the spell holding on, about being found out, about going back to our dorms, about suffering, about the next battle, the next shield to raise. We can be whoever we want now, do whatever we want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy was holding him by the hips now. They were still looking at each other, and he was pretty sure tears were gathering at the corner of his own eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever we want,” he repeated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know who started it. But the next thing he knew, they were kissing. It was messy, there were tears involved, chuckles drowned in sobs. They were holding too tight to each other. Afraid of letting go even for a second, hands grasping at hair and shoulders and back, and they were fifteen again, needy and wanting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:D </p><p>I had a lot of fun with this. I hope you liked this ending, something had to give between them. </p><p>My best friend also highjacked my Google Doc, and this is what could have been in the chapter had I not checked xD</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em> (Je suis un poney ailé, mais je suis joli. Ahahhaahahahhhahahahahhaahahahahahaa</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Brett took the triangle and smashed it on Viola’s head, plucking her eyes off.<br/>- oups, he said<br/>- Meh, said his BOYFRIEND<br/>- Cheval, he responded<br/>Then they shagged on the grass next to the corpse. They then watched the rays of light of the Eiffel Tower in Shanghai. Eddy looked lovingly in his lovers eyes and said:<br/>“- Breeeeeeett, there’s a ray of light.<br/>- No, Eddy, You are my ray of light.<br/>- So what does that make of Ray.<br/>- A square<br/>- Ok, let’s adopt a chinese child<br/>- Whatever, wanna bubble tea ?<br/>- Yup<br/>They went to the city to buy euro millions tickets and lose.)</em></p><p> </p><p>If you are wondering, the first sentence means “I’m a winged pony, but I’m pretty” in French xD I love how random she is. And Cheval means horse.</p><p> </p><p>If that was too much fluff for you, I’ve written a small half angsty one shot, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566867">When the fire dims</a> go take a look if you haven’t read it, I’m talking about themes that are quite important to me! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Belle (never a soft one)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I love you, Mom,” she mumbled in Angish.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you too, Belle.” </p><p> </p><p>She had never said it like this before, and Belle’s heart jumped in her chest, it had almost always been used as a justification <em>- I make you work because I love you - I love you, but you can’t play music - I’m your mother and I love you, so you have to listen to me.</em> Not having anything follow this time, just this simple declaration suspended in the air spread warmth down to her toes. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! Here is my next interlude, we are taking a break from all the angst with some family time! You might notice I’ve upped the numbers of chapter to 30 instead of 28, there is a slight possibility this number will climb to 32, but I don’t know yet, so I’ll keep it at the planned 30 for now. (Can you believe when I started I thought this would be no more than 15 chapters xD)</p><p>Thank you Ria for the beta reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Belle (Never a soft one)</span>
</h1><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - 30th of September</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Belle had defined herself for a long time as </span>
  <em>
    <span>the big sister</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the one who takes care of others. At twenty-six, she had seen more battles than almost anyone in the capital, she had invented a whole new musical genre - a whole new instrument - amid the war with her keyboard strapped on her shoulder, she had made her place as a unique attack melomage, exploited every bad situation in her favor to stay strong and at the top. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But some mothers have this power in their embrace, in the smell coming from their skin, in the crinkles of their eyes, in the way their voices crack around their children’s name, to make even the strongest warrior revert back to an eight-year-old kid melting in the arms of their mother like nothing will be wrong as long as they are there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mother had never been a soft one, despite being loving, and she showed her care in worry for her children’s future rather than in the warmth of hugs. But this was the way things were thirteen years ago before she lost her firstborn, then her only son to the Tower; and the way her hands were digging into Belle’s back screamed relief, as if life was only now coming back to her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, Belle lived this moment her child self never enjoyed, for those few minutes, her mission wasn’t to save her mother anymore, she was letting herself be saved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Mom,” she mumbled in Angish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, Belle.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had never said it like this before, and Belle’s heart jumped in her chest, it had almost always been used as a justification - </span>
  <em>
    <span>I make you work because I love you - I love you, but you can’t play music - I’m your mother and I love you, so you have to listen to me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not having anything follow this time, just this simple declaration suspended in the air spread warmth down to her toes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you and your brother so much. You have no idea- I knew you couldn’t be dead, the both of you. You’re too stubborn for that!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We take it from you, just look at what you’ve started,“ she stepped out of the embrace to spread her arms towards the mass of Prassians sitting in front of the Tower. “A whole riot, all by yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, your Aunt Peishan helped me start this. People are just sick of seeing their loved ones taken from them, even after learning that it was to become that thing called a melomage, they were as angry as ever, I am not alone in this, your old piano teacher even joined us.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you had him fired from the school…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was in the past, this thing the Tower is doing is bigger than petty squabbles between an angry mother and an incompetent teacher.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can see that…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were so many, the people grieving. She knew this riot only stayed peaceful because of the influence of her mother and Mrs. Yang. So far, no guards had managed to move the protesters from their stand at the center of Prass, directly under the shadow of the Tower. She would occasionally see some Prassians throw pebbles or yell something at the Tower, but the government had failed to provide any answer to this after the first attempts at dislodging them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But we need to leave, Mom. Whatever you’re trying to do there, they don’t care, once the shield they have talked about has risen, we won’t be able to get out and-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. I know this already. There was no point in going away if you weren’t there with me, but now that I know you’re both alive, I’ll warn the Yangs and a few other people, we will flee this country. I’ve done it before, I know how to go about this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow… Mom, you sound like such a rebel. The short hair suits you by the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was young too, once, I lived through some things. Now, where are your brother and the young Yang waiting for us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re probably on their way to Lao Ang as we spea-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lao Ang! Foolish child!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom, plea-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you not remember that they have ruined our country?! I will not set foot there!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom! Listen to me! This is about Eddy! There’s something wrong with him, and I think our family in Lao Ang can help him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The ones who choose to emigrate to Lao Ang are not our family any more, Chen Jiabei!” It was so strange to hear her Dewenise name again after thirteen years, the only person to have ever used it since they moved to Surie was her mother, and only when she was angry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom, please don’t scream. If somebody from the army or government hears I’m there, they’ll take me back to the Tower or another battlefield.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mother huffed, lips tight and eyebrows slanted, but her voice was softer when she spoke again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me then, what is that about your brother that justified fleeing to the place our family is supposed to despise the most?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She started explaining as best as she could, but she couldn’t even properly comprehend what had happened, how his brother had just made one with this mystic musical entity that had made him travel through sound, how he unphased for unknown reasons, how sound seemed to anchor him in this reality, but he felt like a flimsy piece of paper, ready to be pieced apart by a too strong burst of wind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The more she talked, the more her mother’s face took back the ashen color she had had before seeing her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your brother cannot go to Lao Ang…” she whispered with finality in her voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really? After what I just told you? How stubborn can you-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t talk to me like this!“ her mother snapped. “This shield is no good, your brother disappearing is no good, and him being so, so far away from the Tower is definitely no good! He has to come back, and we have to stop the shield.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And a slight cliffhanger :D</p><p>Next chapter is just fluff and, fluff, because our boys deserve some rest before I make them suffer again. </p><p>I’m really enjoying the latest chapters I’ve written, hopefully this will last so that I can finish this story in high spirits!</p><p>See you probably this weekend for fluff!</p><p>If anybody wanna talk to me, here’s my discord: kagme#7416 :) feel free to reach out, I’m a chill person</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 11: Across the sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I want to make music with you again,” Brett whispered, brushing his lips and peppering his face and neck with pecks before giving him a full kiss again, slow and almost thoughtful. “But I’m not sure I can.”</p><p>“We’ll get around that,” Eddy kissed his nose, tightening his arm around his shoulders to hug him, pressing Brett’s face against the curve of his shoulder and throat. “Sleep now.”</p><p>“I love you,” his voice was muffled by Eddy’s skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” </p><p>With every new confession, his breathing slowed down, his words slurred until it was just a jumble of sound vaguely taking the shape of an I love you, and Brett fell asleep with his lips caressing Eddy’s throat, still open around the last you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, sorry for the delay, I realized something was wrong in the previous chapter I had written and had to rewrite it, as well as two entire interludes, it took me forever to work out the issue xD and then I still had another full chapter to write before posting this. But there you finally have it, the fluff!</p><p>You may have notices I've added a tag, the first few paragraphs are smut, if you don't want to read it, skip until the asterisk and the "Of, fuck, I needed that." You won't miss anything if you skip it, apart from them relieving some pressure, and Eddy noticing that the kissing between them is new, and Brett saying they should have kissed sooner cause it's nice.</p><p>It's a slow-paced chapter, but I had a nice time writing it. </p><p>The next few chapters are giving them somewhat of a reprieve before the action kicks in. </p><p>Beta read by Ria! Thank you so much for that :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 11: Across the sea</span>
</h1><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - October 2nd</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“D’you still like it the same way?" Eddy panted against his lips, rolling him over until he was covering Brett’s body with his own, hands already fumbling near Brett’s belt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah- oh fuck, Eddy!" he moaned when fingers closed around him under his pants, a slow drag that always made him lose his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s been so long, I don’t think I remember how to do this."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes you do, dickhead, you’re just fishing for compliments," Brett chuckled around a pleased sigh before dragging his best friend again into another kiss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had hooked up with a few people in the three years he had been away, warming him when he was feeling too cold inside, as the threat of death loomed over their head, sparking a chemical passion that didn’t last more than an hour; but none had known his body like Eddy did, every nook and cranny, every reaction, every inch of sensitive skin as the two childhood friends had explored almost everything about the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t done this in years, the last time must have been when Brett was seventeen, hidden behind the night and a discretion spell in the Tower’s kitchen, but it felt urgent at this moment like he would burst out of his skin if he didn’t touch his best friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had to feel him, to have him close and alive, absorb his warmth, breath his smell, lick the salt of his skin, close his arms around his width, meet the resistance of his body and have him heavy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> on top of him, under him, whatever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hips bucked as his left hand settled behind Eddy’s neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, a small noise escaping as he felt a nip on his lower lip, timed with a harsher tug on his dick.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ship was tanging in rhythm with the waves, their glasses had been removed, put to the side, and everything that wasn’t Eddy was blurry; he felt out of time and out of space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got stubble,” his best friend complained, rubbing his nose against the hair growing around his lips, he hadn’t been able to shave since their last night at Kapera’s establishment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well you too, we’ll both have a beard burn hey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy didn’t answer right away, lips deposing soft pecks against his own as his hand kept a slow rhythm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve never kissed before while doing this," he finally whispered, mouth leaving his own to flutter along his jaw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett’s right fingers roamed under his shirt to map his shoulders and glide along his spine, shivers born under the tips as they strayed to the small of his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well we should have, this is good," his hand was heavier on his best friend’s neck, trying to guide him back into the kiss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“D’you think this will change things?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I honestly don’t care, can we please get back to it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now really wasn’t the time for Eddy to drown in his thoughts, it was time to enjoy being alive, to feel, to grasp, to possess, and to let go, and the only thing worth drowning into was each other. When his fingers tangled into Eddy’s hair to press his lips against his own again, his best friend obliged, tongue and teeth turning it filthy enough to have Brett’s toes curl. He looped his other arm around Eddy’s back to press him harder against his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I suck you?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pang of heat traveled directly to his groin at those words, his dick twitched in the hand working it, eyes blinking, unseeing around his need, memories of teenage Eddy’s lips around him surged behind his eyelids, phantom touches making his throat dry already. As much as kissing was enjoyable, there was always only one answer to this proposal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck yes."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett released his grip on him just enough for Eddy to slide down his body, his weight pressing down on him exactly how he liked, and divest him of his pants and underwear, kissing his thighs and biting into them as he did so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait," Brett interrupted just as he was about to take him in his mouth. Eddy stopped at once, eying him with worried eyebrows from his place between his legs. “Don’t make that face," Brett snorted, fingers ghosting against his best friend’s cheekbones. “I just want you to undress too. I wanna see you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah. Sure." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He got rid of every piece of fabric that stood between Brett and his skin without grace or hesitation; there was no shyness about naked bodies when it concerned them, after everything that had happened. He stayed immobile just long enough for Brett to have his fill, eyes racking over pale skin and hard nipples, before going down again, tongue and lips and teeth working on every inch of skin, and mouthing against his cock. A chuckle escaped him as he stared up at Brett who had trouble not shoving him closer, hand twitching around the thick hair it gripped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Remember how awkward the first time was…" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God damnit, stop talking," Brett groaned, trying not to laugh at the memories of their teenage selves fumbling around, of teeth being in the wrong place, accidents, and flailing members.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laughter vibrated against his skin, too sensitive and he bit his right hand to keep from moaning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy nuzzled against him, tongue peeking out to lick and taste, looking like he enjoyed himself way too much, taking his fucking sweet time before finally closing his mouth around him, sighing in delight as his hips ground against Brett’s leg, lips stretched and blissed-out expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy fuck," Brett choked, seeing his best friend’s face. “I had almost forgotten about your oral fixation. Can you still come like this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy whined around him and nodded, eyelids fluttering shut and Brett couldn’t help a thrust in his mouth, his own jaw gaping open at the pleasure coursing through him. A hard suck ripped a groan from him, his hands going from running through his friend’s hair to caressing his face encouragingly. He had no idea what he had ever done to deserve having him like this, open and vulnerable, so eager to please him, so full of adoration, but he would enjoy every single second of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes- this is so good. You’re doing incredible, Eddy,” he tried to raise his head, resting his body weight on an elbow to have a better visual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt Eddy twitch against his leg, rubbing harder against him as a high pitched noise escaped his throat, ripping a harsh pant from Brett in turn and he almost fell back against the mattress under the sensation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your praise kink- of course, the- the freaking praise kink,” he babbled, brain lost to his best friend - his everything really - and the pleasure he brought, one hand still running through Eddy’s hair. “There’s so much- so much about you. I could know every single- every little detail and I’d still want- oh like that! Uh- I’d still want more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand let go of Eddy’s head for a second, moving blindly around to find his glasses, letting the other man work on him as he pleased, head settling to the best pace as his thumbs were digging in Brett’s sensitive spots on his left hip and the inside of his thigh. Brett slid them on his nose with trembling fingers - nothing was more important than seeing Eddy’s face in all its clarity right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His skin was red, lips and eyes wet, cheekbones sharp as he swallowed around him, sweat was making his hair cling to their forehead, and he looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>satisfied</span>
  </em>
  <span>, mind empty of any worry, so focused on being good, hips rutting without restrain, the hot press of his length becoming wetter and wetter against Brett’s leg. He raised his gaze and caught him staring, smiling around the dick in his mouth, and Brett’s mind short-circuited. Another thrust escaped him, his mouth falling open around tiny moans, eyes blinking and watering as he did his best not to close them, wanting to enjoy this view of Eddy for as long as he could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s been too long, you’re too good. You’re too good for me. You need to stay with me, you hear? You need to stay with me, Eddy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy keened, dick spurting against his skin, and Brett spilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck, I needed that,” Brett sighed, body lax and clean under the covers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think some people may have heard us...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, there’s always noise on this ship, nobody will care. Listen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stayed silent for a while, listening to the waves hitting the hull, to the mainsail flapping as the wind was curling against it, the ropes hitting the mast, the creaking of the desk, and the voices of sailors speaking in Angish. His eyelids started getting heavier and heavier, cocooned in Eddy’s warmth, cheek smudged against his chest, lulled by the slow rocking of the ship and the knowledge that silence wouldn’t take his best friend away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is so strange,” Eddy hummed, the rumble of his chest when he spoke vibrating against Brett’s ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is?” he slurred back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Falling asleep together after messing around. We’ve never done that either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True. But that’s nice, don’t you think?” Brett yawned, nuzzling further unto the shirt hanging on Eddy’s frame before realizing there was a wet patch. “Sorry, I drooled on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For all the times </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve </span>
  </em>
  <span>drooled on you after passing out on your shoulder I deserve it,” he replied, arm coming up to drag him even a little closer. He breathed in Brett’s hair, still wet after their shower, chest expanding. “You’re right, this is nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, now I know this is a lot to ask of you but-” Brett was cut by a yawn. “But you’ve got to stop thinking and start sleeping.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Says you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m well on my way to fall asleep so… I’m winning,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Falling asleep isn’t a competition,” he felt Eddy’s chuckle shake him gently as the last shreds of consciousness escaped him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should be…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he drifted off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He woke up with a start, hands patting the sheets beside him only to find them empty. It was still dark out, the ship sailing in the night and singing to herself in wooden cracks and water sloshing. He panicked and sat up, already reaching for his glasses, only to see a body rolled up in the other corner of the bed, Eddy’s slow breathing unbothered by Brett’s sudden awakening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He only managed to fall back asleep after hooking his ankle with his best friend, needing the physical reassurance that he was still there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - September 5th</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The name of the ship could be translated as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Golden Dragon, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the hull was lacquered in black and gold, the characters forming the name were bold and large, and it had a dragon as figurehead. They hadn’t seen a lot of ships in their lives, secluded in the Tower, but even the melomages were able to say it was a unique and beautiful vessel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While there were guests from all colors and cultures on the cabins next to them, most of the ship’s crew was either Angish, or Spanglan, and Eddy had started holding language classes for his group of people so that Oliver and Sophie could learn Angish; but while Oliver was interested in the origin of each word and cultural background behind the expressions, he became too excited when he started speaking and forgot half of his grammar and vocabulary, never minding the accent that was all over the place. Sophie, on the other hand, was great at understanding the grammar, but spent too much time trying to perfect her sentences and never actually spoke, for fear of making a mistake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett pretended not to be interested, but Eddy could see him mumble some words in Angish to himself and had to keep his lips from smiling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of this was useful on the ship, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were guests of Madame Ho since Brett had relinquished his violin but nobody bothered talking to them, not even Madame Ho herself, so they had no opportunity to put the Angish lessons into practice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett stared at Eddy’s violin in his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a weight at the bottom of his stomach and a bitter taste at the back of his mouth, it was hard to tell how he felt when he held the instrument those days. It had been the source of so many hardships and sufferings - he just had to blink to see red threads slash through enemies and choke a dragon - but the idea of never playing it again left him shaking. It was also the thrill of filling a room with music, the mind-numbing calmness of practicing scales and arpeggios, the spark of making magic come to life under his fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every best and every worst memory was linked to this, he felt the curves of the wood with a mix of reverence and horror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who was Brett Yang if you took violin away from him? What was left of him if he couldn’t make music anymore?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He settled the instrument against his neck, bow in his right hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raised his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lowered it without touching the strings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - October 11th</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am- I am the drink- no, wait, for this- yeah, that’s it- for this drink, I have very much appreciation,” Oliver finished his sentence in Angish proudly even under the laughter of the crew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had docked at a small harbor on the South of Glanne whose name escaped them earlier in the afternoon, Oliver and the three melomages had stayed carefully inside their cabins as the crew replenished their supplies of fresh water and food under the sharp eye of Madame Ho.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the night had fallen now, the lights of the lanterns hanging high on the masts casting a warm glow over the wood, and most of the crew had gathered on the deck to drink and enjoy a night of rest, safe from the uncertainty of the sea on this little harbor. Alcohol loosened tongues, and it took less time than expected for Brett and Oliver’s extraversion and bad Anguish to conquer the mirth of the seafarers. Sophie and Eddy joined eventually, sitting on the outside circle, chatting in low tones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Brett’s voice would ring loudly in their ears above the rest of the cacophony, and a smile would rip his way on Eddy’s face, making Sophie shake her head with a huff tinted with fondness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does what they’re saying even make sense?” she asked as they heard their friends yell something in Angish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kinda, Brett’s grammar is terrible, but he still remembers a lot of words from when we were kids, so he’s mostly understandable I think. Oliver is just talking rubbish at this point, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They watched the blond knight gesticulate his arms around as he tried to tell a story, with Brett interjecting from time to time, and it was hard to tell if the laughing was mocking or genuine.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you want to go play translator and help them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No way, watching Brett humiliate himself is way more fun. Plus I’m too lazy to move from our spot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snorted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would joke that you’re a bad friend, but it is so far from the truth it wouldn’t even be funny,“ she took a deep breath, eyelids fluttering close as she seemed to enjoy the fresh air and iodine, her light locks a contrast amongst all the black hair. “You know, I envy you a bit. I mean, not you directly, but this friendship you have with Brett. It gives you a purpose, it gives you something so much bigger than yourself, it keeps you moving forward, or toward each other; hard to tell. Either way, you’re moving.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her gaze raised to the stars, and Eddy felt something tremble inside of him, she seemed sad and he hated it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know… I feel empty, somewhat. Everything was so hectic before, I never had the time to fully process it, but nothing’s happening on this ship, and you can only stare at the sea so long before you start thinking.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How lost I feel. It’s true I had nothing in Surie, no family, all my friends locked in the Tower or buried under rocks in the valley of the war, but there’s nothing waiting for me where we go either. What- What was I thinking? What am I going to do in Lao Ang? I can't understand the language despite all your efforts to each me and-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, Soph. You’ve been learning for little more than a week, nobody can speak a new language under that time. Look at it like this: would you expect someone to be able to play anything other than </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twinkle Twinkle Little Star</span>
  </em>
  <span> if they’ve only been learning the piano for a week?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- Okay. Maybe you’re right about the language thing. But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have anything waiting for me there, I don’t know anything about it, I’m not like Oliver who has an encyclopedia in his head about every country’s culture, or like you and Brett, who have family there, I’m starting to wonder if this wasn’t a mistake…” she saw him open his mouth and shook her head with a small smile. “I know you want to comfort me Eddy, but it’s too late anyway. Even if I knew how to speak Angish, I can’t very well go and ask Madame Ho to turn back toward Surie. I can’t backtrack, so I’m trying to find a reason to move forward, but it’s hard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clasped her wrist and gave an encouraging squeeze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize, none of this is your fault.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, but I’m still sorry you feel that way. We’ll find your purpose together okay? None of us will leave you behind, even if you can’t speak Angish, I can, Brett can, somewhat. And as long as we have family there, then you have one too, you’ll see when Belle comes with our parents, you’ll meet my mother. She’s isn’t exactly sweet, but she’s an amazing woman, I’m sure she’ll love you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Eddy. You’re an amazing friend,” she gave the hand on her wrist a little pat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened his mouth to answer, but his lap was suddenly full of a giggly Brett.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddyyyyyyy,” his best friend drawled in his ear in between chuckles. “Did you- Did y’know? There’s a girl on this ship, her name’s- her name’s Viola!” He burst out laughing. “Oli- Oliver said it’s a common name in Spanglan-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It means </span>
  <em>
    <span>purple!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oliver yelled in Surian from his spot among the members of the crew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever. Can you imagine, Eddy? Being named Viola? Like, your whole life?” he started cackling madly and Eddy could only blink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Never in his life had he seen Brett like this. Sure his childhood friend had wild moments, but not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Viooooolaaaa!” he bellowed again, and from somewhere in the crowd, a brown girl even shorter than Brett sprang up and yelled something back in rapid-fire Spanglan with irritation painted on her face then took a big gulp of the bottle in her hand and spat in their general direction under the howls of the sailors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s time to go to bed, what do you say, Brett?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeeeah. Bed. Sounds good. Lots of things you can do on a bed,” he wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk and hooked his arms behind Eddy’s neck, still sprawled in his laps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy fixed his gaze on the white sails, hoping the glow of the lantern was too low to show the blush claiming his face, blessing every deity that Brett was speaking Surian and nobody from the crew could understand him. They hadn’t done anything since the first night on the ship, but the pressure was slowly building back, and he had wondered if they were going to talk about it or make it a regular thing like before. But not under those circumstances.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still as much a lightweight as ever,” Sophie mumbled under her breath. “You definitely should bring him to bed Eddy, and give him water too, otherwise he’ll feel like shit tomorrow. He always used to drink much more than he could handle at the front too, and then he would ramble about you a lot. At least the only person he’ll annoy with you is you,” she sighed and leaned on her hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you going to sleep too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll stay here a bit longer,” she smiled. “Maybe actually have a drink or two and enjoy the night, try not to think too much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. See you tomorrow then,” he waved at her before getting up with his arm under Brett’s shoulder. “Good evening,” he added in Angish to the crew before walking away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy wait!” Sophie called him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just in case you don’t know, you’re not really in your right mind when you’re drunk, and you’re also not in any state to make a decision. So if- I mean, if Brett asks you </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just remembers you can’t- I mean, don’t do anything when he’s like this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This had passed the bar of </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrassing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to go straight into </span>
  <em>
    <span>mortifying</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just nodded and scurried off as fast as he could while carrying Brett’s half-dead weight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should drink with me next time,” Brett slurred as he was thrown on the sheets and Eddy sat beside him, wheezing from the effort of dragging him from the deck to their cabin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No- No way. Not only does it taste disgusting, but if I’m in the same state as you, who’ll take care of you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hyung did, when I was at the front,” his childhood friend hummed, blinking slowly. “He’d bring me back to our tent ‘nd tuck me in ‘nd give water ‘nd shit. Such a good friend. He’s the only one who never complained that I only talked about you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of water,” Eddy stood up and took a cup he filled, a small part of him marveling at the wonder it was to have circulating water on a ship like this, without any magic to help. “Here, drink.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett downed the cup in one go and fell back on the mattress, hands grabbing at Eddy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, Soph is wrong, hey. I’m no outta my mind. I know exactly what I want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>During this exchange, Eddy had managed undress the both of them quickly, while avoiding Brett’s grabby hands, and was in the process of tugging him in the nightclothes Madame Ho had provided them with, which was slightly more difficult because as eager Brett had been to get have his clothes taken off, he was more reluctant to have some other back on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as they were both under the covers, decent and hydrated and kind of clean, Eddy was so drained he was ready to pass out. But Brett rolled on top of him, hands dragging on his hips and mouth against his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brett. Please,” he groaned. “We should sleep, c’mon on, I’ve said no already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know,” his best friend whispered. “But just- just kisses? Are kisses okay?” he blinked up at Eddy, his eyes so huge when he didn’t have his glasses on, strangely vulnerable, and Eddy didn’t have the heart to refuse him that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay. Kisses are okay, but no fooling around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t kissed either, since that first night, and both of them must have missed it the same way because Brett’s lips were hungry as they covered his own. Alcohol and fatigue made it sloppy, but it didn’t really matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Eddy,” Brett mumbled. “I missed you when you weren’t there. So much. I’m so scared you’ll disappear again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t, I’ll stay with you, I promise. I love you too, Brett,” he replied, hand playing with the hair at the back of his best friend’s neck before kissing the corner of his lip, trying to keep it innocent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something special about Brett’s lips, they felt so comforting, soft, and yielding against his own, but it was almost alien to think he was kissing his best friend, his childhood friend, the person he had known since before he could learn how to speak or walk. Familiar and strange twisting his insides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to make music with you again,” Brett whispered, brushing his lips and peppering his face and neck with pecks before giving him a full kiss again, slow and almost thoughtful. “But I’m not sure I can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll get around that,” Eddy kissed his nose, tightening his arm around his shoulders to hug him, pressing Brett’s face against the curve of his shoulder and throat. “Sleep now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” his voice was muffled by Eddy’s skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With every new confession, his breathing slowed down, his words slurred until it was just a jumble of sound vaguely taking the shape of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Brett fell asleep with his lips caressing Eddy’s throat, still open around the last </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - October 17th</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pirates! Pirates alert!!“ the lookout on the crow’s nest yelled as they neared Gan Lin’s bay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To Brett’s confusion, nobody looked panicked, the sailors checked every rope, easing the mainsail, and turned the helm of the ship until she faced the wind, stopping her in the middle of the sea. Then they all grabbed on to something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the f-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get the time to finish his sentence, Madame Ho got out of her cabin, her shoes clicking against the wood of the deck. She turned toward them and he wondered if this wasn’t the tiniest hint of a smirk on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should hold on to the railing," she advised in Angish, and Brett was proud to have understood this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?" Sophie asked, throwing nervous glances at the boat emerging from the bay, black flag flapping in the wind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pirates," Eddy enlightened her. “I’ve seen no weapons on this ship, but nobody seems worried. And Madame Ho just told us to hold on to the railing."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Better obey than ask questions right now, everyone else is doing it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The knuckles of their hands whitened as they grabbed the wood. Madame Ho was speaking in a tongue that seemed to be neither Angish nor Spanglan, rolling under her tongue as her arms raised to the sky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sea darkened, waves growing, hitting the hull where it was calm before. Clouds gathered above their heads, with the wind picking up, the pirate ship was coming faster toward them, but their attention was taken by a flash of gold in the sky. Streaking from between the clouds, the long shape of a golden beast roared, like a streak of lightning turned alive, it dove down and circled their ship once, so fast their eyes only registered liquid gold whipping past them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Waves came up higher and higher, the sea black and dangerous as thunder rolled from the mouth of the golden beast. Howlers from the pirate ships changed from ferocious to terrified as their boat was rocked like a matchstick on water, brittle against the fury of the elements.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can control a dragon?" Eddy yelled in Angish above the sail flapping and the ropes hitting the mast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Madame Ho burst out laughing, louder than thunder, as the pirate ship snapped in two, and her expression was terrifying. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody can control a dragon, they help because they want to."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a last streak of gold, the mythical beast flew toward the clouds, roared, and disappeared. In the next blink, the sea was flat and calm, the sky blue, and the only noise was the gentle lap of waves against the wood. If it wasn’t for the two halves of the pirate ship sinking in front of them, they could have imagined the whole thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you, everyone, for the comments. I'm putting so much of myself in this story I'm overwhelmed when I get positive feedback (or any feedback really, if you ever see plotholes, incoherences, or badly written sentences please notify me).</p><p>The next interlude should come sometimes in the course of the next week, I'm almost done writing MeloMania btw (I still have tones of editing to do) but editing apart, I only have two interludes and one chapter to write before being done with the actual writing. (so if some doubts that I will finish this, fear not, it's well on its way).</p><p>Don't forget to leave a kudo or a comment if you liked this, this feels like the nicest reward for the work put into this!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Ray (Pushing back)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A little look at what's happening in Surie while Brett and Eddy are fleeing. The mess keeps growing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! Sorry it took me forever :)<br/>But here is finally a small interlude, I have no clue when the next chapter should come, hopefully, this weekend.</p><p>Thank you Ria for the beta reading! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Ray (Pushing back)</h1><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - October 15th </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“How much of this mess is because of Brett and Eddy, you reckon?” Ray asked, leaning against the window.</p><p> </p><p>“I would say at least half of it,” Alex crashed beside him with a tired groan, resting his head on the stones of the wall.</p><p> </p><p>At the foot of the Tower, the mob of angry Prassians was still camping there, refusing to move on, but things had escalated by now, a few of them trying to force open the doors, not realizing the charms carved in it would make sure brute force wouldn’t make the door budge.</p><p> </p><p>He had recognized Belle in the middle of the crowd, a couple of weeks ago, talking to a very old foreign-looking man and a tired one, standing beside the famous Mrs. Chen he had heard so much about from his friends, the one leading this protest if what they had gathered from overlooking by the windows was correct.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think Eddy is dead,” Ray whispered, gaze still on the protestors.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, not again,” Alex racked a hand through his dyed hair. “This isn’t- you need to stop, Ray. The fucking earring shattered in my own hand, false hope and empty words won’t make it better, we need to accept his death and move on, the situation is enough of a mess as it is. You’re lucky Toni isn’t here, she would get so mad at you for bringing this up again."</p><p> </p><p>“No, but for real! Think about it, his mother was leading a whole protest, yelling at the Tower to give back her son, and then Belle shows up, not looking sad or traumatized for one bit, then they both disappear?”</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t seen Belle again, after that glimpse on the 30th of September, but soon after, the attacks on the doors had started. Prass was a mess, the government was hiding from its own citizens inside the palace, and even the Tower was in an internal war now.</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t change anything, if he’s dead or alive right now,” Alex replied through gritted teeth. “We’re fighting for ourselves and all our attack friends who died in that explosion.”</p><p> </p><p>Ever since their group had sabotaged the playing on the 21st of September, tensions had risen, and when melomages had started seeing family members joining the crowd at the foot of the Tower, it had sparked a revolution from within, young musicians trying to open the doors from the inside, to go back to their families, while others tried to stop them and remind them that for the good fo the country they had to keep threading the shield. It had been almost a month since the fighting between melomages had started but Ray, Alex, Toni, and all the people they cared about were on the losing end, despite some of the Masters joining them, like Rose Deauclaire.</p><p> </p><p>They were tired, not used to the chaos, thinned from starvation since the kitchens had been raided by the other side. Alex had even stopped being funny, and Ray felt ready to crumble, but he wouldn’t give up now, he wouldn’t go back to play for the higher-ups, he wouldn’t pretend to forget what had happened, the lives they had lost, the lies they had been told for so long.</p><p> </p><p>They hadn’t made any progress in opening up the Tower, but at least they had hindered the shield the government was trying to raise by refusing to play. Some Masters were holed up in the Imperial Palace, still making threads rise ever so slowly, going on with the Emperor’s plan.</p><p> </p><p>“Alex! Alex, look!”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Hilary Hahn! What the fuck, mate!”</p><p> </p><p>“What are you on about?” Alex grumbled, pushing him to have a better spot by the window. “Oh. Fuck.”</p><p> </p><p>The famous melomage was standing by the doors, at the bottom of the Tower, her instrument out, Belle had her keyboard strapped around her shoulder, and another old man stood at her side, a crowd of onlookers gathered around them.</p><p> </p><p>“What are they-”</p><p> </p><p>Ray couldn’t hear, but Hilary Hahn lowered her bow as Belle’s fingers ran over the keys. Gold and blue rose from their instrument to hit the door, threads beating at the stone.</p><p> </p><p>“We have to help them!” Alex grabbed his arm. “If we have Hilary Hahn and Belle Chen on our side we’ll be unbeatable!”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, we’ll get attacked on sight the second we get down there-”</p><p> </p><p>“Is your shield still up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but it won’t hold long-”</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t matter, it’s now or never. Are you with me?”</p><p> </p><p>From below, he could see the two women unleash a flurry of hits. Alex was right, their chance to retake the Tower was now, and it was with Hilary Hahn and Belle Chen.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I am, definitely!” </p><p> </p><p>All tiredness evaporated from his body as they ran down the stairs, yelling for help as they crashed in the main hall, still under the other side’s occupation.</p><p> </p><p>A thread instantly lashed at Ray’s body, his shield shivered but hung on and kept him from being smashed against a wall. From behind him, Master Deauclaire, Toni, Phoebe, and all the musicians and people they had grown up with gathered with excited chatters, the ones who had their instruments with them were holding them up threateningly, in case the thread that had hit Ray’s shield was the lead up to a more serious attack.</p><p> </p><p>Nobody was moving yet, but all jaws were tense.</p><p> </p><p>“Hilary Hahn is on the other side of that door, and she’s got Belle Chen with her,” Ray panted to Master Swabendich who was guarding the doors. “If you don’t believe me, just send someone to check at the windows. Pretty much all the other Masters have deserted the Tower to hole themselves up in the Palace, and what do you think will happen when she finds out you’ve tried to stop her from entering?”</p><p> </p><p>Master Swabendich didn’t answer, but his mouth thinned, his expression impossible to read, gaze hidden by his eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, you can’t possibly think you can keep her outside,” Alex rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>As if on cue, the door shook, hinges vibrating under the strength of the hits.</p><p> </p><p>“Master Swabendich, we aren’t protecting anyone by fighting amongst ourselves,” Master Deauclaire stepped up, her voice soft despite the determination in her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Well then, surrender,” he gritted. “If you and your group of rebels accepted to work on the shield we wouldn’t be in this situation. Our duty is to protect this country.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve sent countless kids to their death! We’ve taken them from their homes without their consent! How is that our <em> duty?” </em> the usually calm Master Deauclaire snapped. “And you know as well as I do that our government lied to its people! Lied to us! You <em> know </em>Bellani and Glanne aren’t responsible for this explosion! Open your eyes, you helped make those explosives!”</p><p> </p><p>The door trembled again.</p><p> </p><p>“The sacrifice was worth making-”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it <em> wasn’t! </em> There’s <em> nothing </em>that justifies this!” she raged, and Ray took a step back, eyes widening at her anger, but Master Swabendich stood his ground.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re being blinded by your feelings, just think-”</p><p> </p><p>“The sacrifice?” one of the young melomages by the old Master’s side whispered in a small voice that managed to weigh heavier than the heavy argument. His skin was pale, mouth open in shock. Every person in the room was staring at him and his shaking hands. “Elise was at the eastern border... She was my friend… And we- you- the government killed her? It wasn’t Glanne?”</p><p> </p><p>“Patrick, listen to me-” Master Swabendich started.</p><p> </p><p>But the young melomage was shaking his head, stepping back, breathing fast. Ray worried he was going to fall over when he noticed Patrick’s hands were grabbing at something behind his back.</p><p> </p><p>The door mechanism.</p><p> </p><p>Master Swabendich realized this at the same time, hands shooting forward to stop him.</p><p> </p><p>It was too late, the heavy stones of the doors parted, letting the sounds from the outside fill the Tower; Khachaturian’s Masquerade Suite, yells, chatter, sunlight dripping in as a golden thread whipped inside, indenting the marble of a column and a blue one swiped the melomages at the entrance off their feet.</p><p> </p><p>The doors hit the wall, stone against stone; Hilary Hahn and Belle Chen standing there, lowering their instruments, the notes dying out as their threads evaporated, half of Prass gathered behind them.</p><p> </p><p>This was the end of the Tower as they knew it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much everyone for your comments and support, this story is long to write and to plan out, it's taking a lot of my free time, so having any kind of feedback is incredible and motivates me to finish this, even when I dread writing a chapter because of lengthy they are.</p><p>Thank you so much :) I'm very grateful for the time you take leaving me a kudo or a comment. I hope you like this chapter as much as the others, even though there are just mentions of Brett and Eddy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 12: Healing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Hey, Brett.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mh?”</p><p> </p><p>“What are we?”</p><p> </p><p>“Brett and Eddy.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, would you look at that, I said I would probably publish the next chapter this weekend, and I did xD miracle!</p><p>I wrote literally all weekend to be able to publish this, I'm exhausted. It's such a wild ride. I will dream of it tonight, probably.</p><p>Big disclaimer, as you may have noticed, Lao Ang is inspired by China, but I am not Chinese, so a big thank you to my friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonnayoly/pseuds/Jonnayoly">Jonnayoly</a> for all the help she gave on the culture, the history, the language, the instruments and the music recommendations, she made sure this chapter felt as authentic and non-offensive as possible! She even read the chapter in advance to make sure this was fine. Thank you for your time :D</p><p>Also, as usual, thank you so much, Ria for your beta reading! So efficient :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 12: Healing</span>
</h1><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 4609 of the Sun-Moon calendar - 5th day of the Dew Month</span>
  </em><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The strings reverberated, shaking as she plucked the guqin once again. The callouses on her fingers different from those marking the fishermen’s hands of Yi Lin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She often attracted a small crowd, with how unusual it was to have a guqin that far from the big cities, the villagers more used to the dizi or erhu. Despite keeping her playing to the outskirts of the small town to protect her instrument from the humidity of the ocean that permeated the beaches, the wives and children waiting for the fishermen that left at sea gathered around her, but she barely noticed the onlookers as the slow notes of Thinking of an Old Friend raised melancholy within her heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bamboo forests and the aged face of her mother made her chest ache, as she was missing every inch of Dewenise soil she had walked on, every breath she had taken when still surrounded by her family. Nobody in this small village knew where she was from, but nobody asked; she was the lady playing the guqin, the lady protecting them with wisps of magic when the raging sea threatened to swallow the beach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yixuan Zhao the Music Spirit, they called her, even when they couldn’t see the threads rising from her instrument, carelessly dancing around her, flitting about and weaving by themselves, following the vibration of the guqin and the longing for a home that didn’t exist anymore in her chest. As the last note echoed, resonating long after she had plucked the string, she followed the pink thread with her eyes, observing it shimmer before disappearing in the air, taking with it her grief about the old, letting her enjoy the new of her life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, Miss Zhao?" a kid piped up from the side. She raised her head and nodded at him, feeling a little bit too raw to speak now, her hands still resting on the strings. “There’s a bunch of people with the worst accent ever on the seaside, they’ve been asking about you all’round. They said people from other towns told them you were here. They’re, like, really weird. With weird clothes. And weird bags. Some of them even have yellow hair! Do I send them away?“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a few people who could be looking for her, old friends and distant family members who had moved to Lao Ang when Dewen disappeared, but none should be seen as weird. Wariness seized her as she shook her head at the boy, wrapping her guqin in its cover as she stood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will see what they want, do they look armed or dangerous?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, not really. But they look really, really tired. Anyway, Dad is with them, and Dad is super strong, so even if they try to attack you he’ll stop them!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yixuan shook her head with an amused huff, images of her nephew boasting about how amazing his big sister was superposing to the one of the boy. Playing Thinking of an Old Friend always sharpened her memory, erasing the years as if it was just yesterday she was sitting with her sister on the porch, listening to their mother’s guqin as they watched over the three children. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As she walked down the path leading to the sea, the children followed her. They had taken a liking to her after she had started teaching some of them to read or to play music, education was rare to find in a small fishing village and she didn’t have anything else to do with her time. The path stopped at the port, the liveliest part of the village where trade and life happened in shouts among the smell of salt and fish. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Old had this way to catch up in new ways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hands shook as she saw the face of her sister in the features of a young man standing there, looking lost, shoulder leaning on a smaller Dewenise looking man who could be no other than Boyao Yang, two westerners at their sides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weicheng.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - October 28th</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Yixuan Zhao didn’t look like her sister.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy hadn’t seen his mother in ten years, but even his hazy memories allowed him to draw the comparison. His aunt was taller, leaner, her features bearing softness where Eddy’s mother had hardened. There was a different strength in the depth of her gaze, in the crinkles at the corner of her eyes, age floated around her in a hazy manner, and it was hard to determine if she was older or younger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was the first person since they arrived in Lao Ang who hadn’t looked at Sophie and Oliver with distrust, allowing the four of them in her house, just on the outskirts of Yi Lin village - they had crossed too many already, asking all around for a Yixuan Zhao without success. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her Angish had the lilt of familiarity, her accent different from the one they had heard until now, vowels stretching longer, like the voice of his mother, and the sound of memories eaten away by time. She pushed a cup of green tea in their direction, leaves slowly unrolling in the hot water. The earthy scent and strong taste awakened the different sensibilities of his tongue, nothing like the ground black tea in bags they used to have at the Tower. Sophie and Oliver stared at it in wonder, fingers hesitant around the cup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- We ran away…” Eddy didn’t know where to start. She nodded and took a sip of her tea, a smile and a gesture of her hand indicating him to continue. “We were in Surie, and the country is at war. Everything is a big big mess, and it would be so long to explain everything, but we had to escape.” His Angish had gotten smoother over the past weeks, vocabulary expanding as he spoke nothing but his old mother tongue when he was conversing with anyone outside of their group of runaways. “Our government tried to kill Brett among other people, and I escaped from where I was held to go to him. The country is a mess, there was nothing for us there, and we were both supposed to be dead, so we decided to get away from Surie. Belle- I mean, Jiabei told us you were here and could help-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy needs help. He is disappearing,” Brett interrupted his babbling, no emotion in his voice or on his face, but his grip tightened around Eddy’s hand under the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yixuan frowned and stared at the both of them, dread climbed on her face as she put her tea down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean by this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We make magic with music, and Eddy talks with the music to take him out of Tower, before,” Brett forged on, uncaring about his bad Angish, “And now, when there is no sound, he disappears. He needs help. Now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh children, you too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The long object wrapped in a white cloth that had intrigued Eddy since he had seen his aunt for the first time revealed its mystery as she uncovered it and settled it on the low table, strings taunt on the wooden board. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” his curiosity took the better of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guqin."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her fingers were strong as she plucked one string, moving her hand to let it vibrate in the air, and Eddy felt it even before it manifested, the magic waving through him, an instant before the pink thread emerged, staying there for a few seconds before shimmering away with the last of the instrument’s vibration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Melomage!” Sophie, Brett, and himself gasped at the same time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that how you call weavers in the west?” she asked. Brett and Eddy nodded. “I don’t think I understand your situation, but it seems you are in a lot of trouble, nephew. If you want my help, you will have to tell me everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Halfway through their tale, Oliver and Sophie had gotten bored of hearing them speak in a language they barely understood, and with the night falling, exhausted by days of walking, they dozed off. Letting the two Angish speaking men relate their adventures under the lights of the lamps and the gaze of Yixuan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The more they told, the more her lips tightened, but she didn’t interrupt them, hands cradling her instrument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are children playing with thousand-year-old magic,” she exhaled as their story came to an end, her tone wasn’t angry, or even judgmental, but tinged with sadness. “You have no idea what you are doing, and yet to try to put rules on it. The pattern of the world is already woven under its own laws, and pulling the threads in the directions you see fit will just ruin the tapestry. Your Masters don’t master anything, all they have taught you is nonsense. I’m very sorry for you, you could have been brilliant weavers under the right tutelage, I am sure…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I am not sure I get it?” Eddy frowned, struggling to keep up with her complex Angish, glancing at Brett in the hopes of obtaining some help, only to see his best friend had given up on understanding, staring blankly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you are so wise,” Brett only interjected with so little politeness Eddy’s skin crawled. “Maybe now you tell how to stop my best friend to disappear-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What Brett meant,” Eddy cut him with a glare. “Is that you seem to know a lot, Aunt Yixuan, so we definitely came to the right place. Thank you for having us here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. You shouldn’t have come here,” she shook her head, furrowed eyebrows stressing her worry. “I can’t believe how lucky you have been until now, but distance with your problem will only make things worse. Weaving is a very, very old art, older than all the divination and healing magic on which Lao Ang thrives, and remember this country has more than four thousand years of history, how well documented do you think Weaving is? I have never heard of what is happening to you before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But-” Brett started before she interrupted him with a hand and the hint of a smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still as impatient as I remember, Boyao. Listen. That doesn’t mean I won’t try to help you, you are my nephew, Weicheng, I will do everything I can to stop you from disappearing. Weaving has always been an important part of the Zhao family, maybe I can find a way to anchor you. But to my current understanding, you are linked to that Tower of yours, I don’t think being so far from it was a wise choice, it might make everything worse. However you and your friends are welcome to stay here as long as you want, this is your decision.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he replied before his best friend could say anything that might get them thrown out. “But I don’t think we could go back even if we wanted to, we’re both supposed to be dead, and it’s not like we can overthrow the government and take the Tower between the two of us. Plus our parents and my sister should already be on their way for Lao Ang as we speak, so we should at least wait for them here.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His aunt inhaled sharply and raised her eyebrows, the tea in her hand forgotten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your parents? Your parents are coming here? To Lao Ang? Are you sure?“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If Belle managed to convince them, then yeah, but- huh- just- it’s just my mother and Brett’s parents. Dad died a long time ago.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh, I see,“ she put down her cup, the noise of the ceramic hitting the wood of the table almost too loud for the night, and covered his hand with her own. Her fingers were strong and callous. “I’m very sorry, Weicheng, I’ve always liked your father, I think he balanced your mother nicely too, they were good for each other. I can’t imagine how she felt when he passed, I don’t know how well you remember him, but Zhewei Chen was a very good man. Gentle and kind, even if he wasn’t outward about it.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- thanks," he could feel his throat clogging.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried not to think of his father, most of the time, his life was enough of a mess that he didn’t need to dwell on past sufferings, but sometimes, fleeting memories of a gentle hand on his shoulder, and the slow reassurance of his father’s voice kept him awake, and his guts would twist, imagining what life could have been, had he still been alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, enough sadness for one evening, I think it is time for you to go to sleep, your friends might appreciate not spending the night on the floor,” she pointed to Oliver spread like a starfish, mouth open around his snores, and Sophie curled in a fetal position against the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett woke up with a start, panic already welling up inside him, hands blindly fumbling around for his violin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were under attack, he could feel it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard a scream, a muffled groan of pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Darkness surrounded them, but shapes loomed over them threateningly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Enemies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Behind his eyelids, memories of the war flashed, assault by Glanne’s armies in the middle of the night, the roar of dragons circling their camp at unsuspecting hours, the smell of burning flesh and bitter loss. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t process what was happening, but he had a violin in his hands already, fingers steady despite the shaking of his body. The Allegro brusco from Prokofiev’s first violin sonata fell aggressively from it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harsh notes and slashing threads filled the space. Red in his mind, before his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something twisted inside him, worry, panic, but he barely processed the emotions that weren’t his. Then his name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-ett please! Brett! Listen to me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinked, the shaking of his body now spreading to his hands, notes falling from grace, messy, bow skidding on the strings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He realized he was heaving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He realized Eddy was standing in front of him, face contorted in anguish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He realized the black shapes of strangers were cowering behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He realized the feelings exploding in his chest; the worry his best friend was feeling, the panic, and the bafflement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bafflement that made sense, once he also realized that in Eddy’s hands were his threads. And that under his fingers, blue spread on the red, until the thread was no longer Brett’s. He was vibrating too, following the last echo of the note, as if a thread himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stared at each other, surprise echoing, mouth gaping open, and Brett lowered the violin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blue thread stayed until Eddy let go of it, and it shimmered away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How- How did you-” Brett stuttered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Watch out!” Sophie yelled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett’s eyes widened as one of their attackers rose from behind Eddy and tried to strike him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t even raised his bow when the strum of the guqin echoed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One single, long note.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It shook the foundations of the house, the thread carried by the vibration knocking back the man and he fell on the floor with his companions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett’s heart was beating in his throat as he turned to the gentle face of Yixuan Zhao, hand still hovering over her instrument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is happening here?” she whispered, eyes racking over the men sprawled on the floor of her house, the bruises covering Sophie and Oliver, Brett’s panting, and Eddy’s empty hands still held up in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The men- the men attack because they can’t- don’t, because they don’t- don’t like yellow, the yellow hair,” Oliver struggled to answer in Angish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s those guys that looked at us weirdly in the previous village, remember?” Sophie breathed out in their native language, probably too shaken to try and speak a foreign tongue she barely knew how to use. “They started beating us and telling us to go back to our country, that we would bring bad luck with Oliver’s blond hair and our blue eyes. They probably followed us all the way here and waited for an opportunity,” her hand cradled her cheek, wincing at the bruise inflating it. “Oliver managed to push two of them back with his gift, but we were still outnumbered. Then you went crazy, Brett, you woke up and took Eddy’s violin and played so brutally you almost killed those guys. Like in the valley of war. Eddy tried to stop you but you couldn’t hear him so he- he… Grabbed your threads? With his bare hands? To stop them from hitting the guys more. I’ve- I’ve never seen anything like this…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett turned back toward Eddy, finally putting the violin down, and took one of his hands in his. They felt normal. Warm. Calloused. He glanced up at him, but the questions he had found no answer in Eddy’s eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be okay, man. We’ll figure out what’s happening to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smile he got was a bit shaky but genuine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be okay, too,” Eddy whispered so low he was the only one to hear it, knuckles brushing over his arm. “You’ll get past this one day, music will just be music.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a lump in his throat, scary feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to explore, terrified at the idea the only thing he could ever do with a violin from now on would be to destroy. He would have to face it at one point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - October 29th</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I could help you more, Weicheng, but I have never heard of anything like what is happening to you. From what I have seen, it seems you are becoming sound yourself. When you stepped into the Music of your tower, I think you left your body behind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you saying? This isn’t my body anymore?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is a very good approximation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat on the beach, watching the waves lick the sand, a bit higher after each passage. A new admiration had spread inside Eddy since Yixuan had put to sleep their attackers in just one note, her thread hadn’t hit them, or weaved into a spell, it was neither attack nor defense magic, but something completely different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want to learn that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brett had whispered against his neck when they had gone back to sleep, childlike enthusiasm filtering through his fatigue and trauma, hints of the teenager he had been sparking a flame Eddy wanted to cradle and protect.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A good approximation of Eddy’s body? It felt pretty real to me,” Brett frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was sitting near Eddy now, listening to Yixuan, drawing stick figures on the sand, and he snorted when his best friend wiggled his eyebrow at his choice of word. A bit further on the beach, in front of a house isolated from the rest village, Oliver and Sophie were taken care of by the healer of Yi Lin. Even from where they were, they could hear Oliver’s voice chatting the healer’s ear off, despite his rough Angish, and Sophie’s soft chuckle carried by the wind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think the Magic in Surie threaded a new body for you, Weicheng, when you traveled with the sound. But this body isn’t stable within our world.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you mean I’m made of threads now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everything is made of threads,” Yixuan smiled. “Weavers can see those threads and the path they take, can enter in resonance with them through their music. But what you do, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>melomages</span>
  </em>
  <span> do, is more like ripping threads from the tapestry of the world to force them to do your bidding. It leaves holes everywhere, such a messy approximation of our art. There is no such thing as attack or defense melomages.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you teach us? Be weavers? I know it is lot to ask because already you help Eddy and research, but I want to learn,” Brett asked, then added as an afterthought. “Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I still think you should go back to Surie,” Yixuan Zhao sighed. “As soon as the rest of the family gets here, we should plan ahead and see if we can find another nexus of acoustic lines or a way to bring you back to Surie. In the meantime, I’ll try to think of a spell to keep you here, even if temporarily. The Zhao family has always prided themselves on their innovative spells and protections,“ she gave him a small smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve always been very good at discretion spells, and Belle invented a whole new instrument and musical genre,” Eddy preened. “That might explain why.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop showing off,” Brett hit him on the shoulder with a snicker. “With weaving can I fix him?” he switched back to Angish, turning his face toward Eddy’s aunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Weicheng isn’t broken,” she laughed softly. “The threads of him rest on sound and music. I think only the one who made him like this can bring him back fully to the vibration of this world.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So the Tower then,” Eddy hummed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Indeed. Let’s go back to my house once your friends are healed, maybe I can show you some things for you two to work on while I try to find a way to anchor you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can help you with the research, I liked that back when I was in the Tower-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Healers are brilliant!” Oliver yelled from where he was skipping toward them. “Look at that! I don’t have a single bruise left! He wouldn’t explain to me how he did it though! But maybe this was because he couldn’t understand what I was asking him. Come with me next time Eddy, so you can translate!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you planning on getting hurt again?” Sophie chuckled, walking behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything for science, or magic, or well- let’s just go with knowledge.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yixuan shook her head with a fond smile despite not being able to understand the exchange. Oliver’s enthusiasm wasn’t restrained by language. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” Brett frowned at the strange instrument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“An erhu. Since you don’t have your violin anymore, I thought maybe this would be good for you to learn weaving. This is closer to what you play than my guqin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes raked over the room he was in, wondering how many instruments she owned. There were foreign objects in every corner, half of them were probably instruments, shelves of scrolls, and music sheets. Any of their Masters at the Tower would kill to have access to such a room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you play them all?” Eddy wondered, mouth gaping open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not. I just brought as many as I could from our house in Dewen when we escaped, to save them. I can only play the guqin, erhu, and guzheng to some level.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Written music very- huh- not same,” Sophie tried to speak Angish, fingers flipping through the pages of an old music sheet, frowning at the strange numbers and symbols linked together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, music and weaving are very old, and took many forms as they were spread throughout the world; people in the West called their magicians melomages, while we went with weavers; we taught it in different ways, we developed different instruments, different theories, and different writing. The old musicians and melomages of the West did a remarkable job, if I have to be honest, weavers even borrowed some of their theories on tonality. But your new country doesn’t understand anything, they have reawoken something they don’t understand, stolen knowledge from the Ancients living in your Tower, and your Melody is running out even faster than it did for them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While Eddy translated to Sophie, Yixuan Zhao sat next to Brett and placed his hands on the erhu, showing him the correct position, and instructing him on the basics.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I feel like a cellist,” he mumbled, feeling proud when he heard Eddy laugh. “So, how are we supposed to do this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yixuan Zhao hummed, sitting in front of her guqin and strumming a note, letting the thread wrap around her like a lover.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have been lucky enough to meet a dragon. Think back on it, on the power they hold, on how respectful you are to be of them, on how you would never think to tell them what to do. The way a dragon helps you when they want to, music does the same. Do not try to order it around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett moved his bow over a string of the erhu, wincing at the horrible screeching sound that came out of it, and then once again when a red thread slashed at the ground before crumbling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll never get it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - November 2nd</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weaving is so fucking hard,” Brett complained, sprawled over Eddy’s naked body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At least now it’s the only thing that’s hard,” his best friend wheezed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I feel I should try to make an effort and laugh so you don’t feel sad that your joke flopped, but this was so bad I don’t even have the energy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy chuckled, probably still proud of his lame pun, fingers tracing patterns between his shoulder blades.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s so cool, though. It’s not as, huh, powerfully explosive as the threading we did in Surie, but there’s so much more possibilities.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. That’s why it’s so fucking hard,” he grumbled again. “But hey, at least it’s useful. You haven’t unphased once in the past few days, even when it’s quiet. So I think the spell your aunt wove around you is effective enough. I need to learn that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rays of the afternoon sun were filtering through the window, spilling on their skin, warming Brett’s back. Oliver had gone back to the beach to harass the healer with questions, and Sophie was accompanying Yixuan while she was teaching the little kids of Yi Lin, so they had used this rare moment of privacy to the fullest, bodies now spent and lax against each other, lips still seeking skin by instinct.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was new, this freedom they had around them, even with the threat of Eddy unphasing at any time looming over their head, it all seemed so far away when he could feel the warm press of his body against his, how tangible he was under his hands, how real he tasted on his tongue. Right this instant, there wasn’t anything that would make him move from his spot, Eddy’s hand roamed his sides and he hummed in happiness. Nobody was trying to kill them, there wasn’t anywhere they needed to be, and even if someone was to come into the room right now, they would just backtrack and leave them be. His main problem was that he had no idea how to weave despite Yixuan Zhao’s patient but cryptic lessons and it felt like such a mundane issue compared to everything they had gone through. The fact that Eddy was no better than him despite being able to grasp threads with his bare hands also made him feel better about it; they were struggling together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nuzzled his best friend’s neck with a happy sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Brett.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brett and Eddy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy chortled and kissed his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True. But I meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>us.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Whatever it is between us. I don’t- I haven’t been outside a lot, but I’ve got a feeling kissing and fucking isn’t common between friends. I know you don’t really like to talk about that kind of thing, but I want- I don’t know, just to know how permanent this is, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett groaned against his best friend’s skin. What good would it do them to put it in words? But he understood Eddy needed reassurance, that he liked to know where things were going, and a small part of him admitted he was scared too. That another Toni would come up, and suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the afternoons spent basking in each other, Eddy’s moan in his ears, the eagerness with which he would please him, the familiar strangeness of his lips, it would all disappear again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just want this to last, I guess. I just want to have you like this for as long as I can, with no girl to come in between us. Just- just us,” he confessed, poking Eddy in his ribs to hide his vulnerability.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His best friend yelped and swatted his hand, but refused to get distracted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Won’t you get tired of me? How long is </span>
  <em>
    <span>as long as you can</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude, stop asking impossible questions, I don’t know. A long time, my whole life probably, I’ve been with you for twenty years already, what’s twenty or forty more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And sixty more?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will we even live that long?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if we do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then yes, I’ll still be with you if we are alive in sixty years.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With me like this?” he gestured to their naked bodies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If we have the energy, what’s the sex drive of an eighty years old man?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good question, we should ask the old man near the docks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you even know how to say sex drive in Angish?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They burst out laughing, their laughter reverberating in each other’s chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. I love you, Eddy. You’re an idiot,” Brett hiccuped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right back at you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just- don’t leave me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one who’s always leaving, and I’m running behind you to catch up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not as if I wanted to. I mean, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> kidnapped for a few of those times,” he felt Eddy’s chuckle shake his body and smiled. “But there’s nothing that can make me leave anymore, I’ll be there whatever we are forced into next, so you have to stand by me now,” he was glad for their position - face hidden in Eddy’s neck - because maintaining eye contact while opening himself so would have been too nerve-wracking. But nightmares of his best friend disappearing in the middle of the night plagued him too much, vulnerability rising and he wanted to cling to him with everything he had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Eddy’s fingers traced patterns on his back, dipping in the patch of skin warmed by the sun. “Brett and Eddy, huh,” he murmured, kissing his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was crazy, Brett thought, how good two names put together could sound.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks everybody for reading this, I've written so many words I can't believe it. I only have one full chapter to write before I'm done! (and a bunch of interludes and epilogues etc) and then editing, but the core of the writing is done soon.</p><p>I hope you enjoyed this time of rest for them, it won't last long, but they've enjoyed it to the fullest.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Zhewei Chen (The country falls)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Come with us,” Chiaying told Yixuan Zhao, fingers gripping the railing of the ship heading West they had boarded. “We are family, we should stick together.”</p><p> </p><p>“To do what? Go to a country so far away that I won’t speak the language, won’t understand the culture; where I might get hunted down for my weaving? Please Chiaying, Lao Ang is the best option.”</p><p> </p><p>“Never.”</p><p> </p><p>The waves were hitting the hull, birds crying as the sun shone on them without warming anybody from the wind howling. They would sail away quickly with this weather. He couldn’t see them, but Yixuan Zhao’s eyes were tracing invisible shapes in the air, and he could guess the threads of the shield were slowly closing around them.</p><p> </p><p>“Goodbye, then,” she whispered, staying on the shore as the captain of their ship yelled to weigh anchor.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, exactly one week from one chapter to another, miracles keep happening!<br/>Once again, thanks to my friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonnayoly/pseuds/Jonnayoly">Jonnayoly</a> for her insights about Asian related culture and the help she gave me.</p><p>Thanks also to Ria for beta reading all of this! This story became a mastodonte, and I’m so grateful she’s still sticking with me and correcting my terrible grammar.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Zhewei Chen (The country falls)</span>
</h1><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 4593 of the Sun-Moon calendar - Winter</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Zhewei Chen wasn’t a weaver but he had married into a family of one. Everybody on Dewen knew about the Zhao family; the main reason their island was still resisting the forces of Lao Ang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he married Chiaying Zhao, seven years ago, contrary to traditions he had been the one joining her family. Jiabei and Weicheng grew up in the main Zhao residence, along with the son of the Yang family, to the strum of the guqin and the cool shadows of the bamboo forest. The war with Lao Ang felt far away, protected by the shield weaved by the Zhao family, the kids running around, music in every corner of the residence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chiaying’s older sister, Yixuan Zhao, was rarely around at that time, busy pushing back Lao Ang from their island after years of occupation. She had never married, despite being the eldest of the main Zhao house, the official version was that she didn’t have the time with the war going on, but Chiaying had explained in hushed tones her sister just wasn’t interested in romantic relationships of any kind. Zhewei had always appreciated Yixuan Zhao’s gentleness, a sharp contrast to his wife’s strength and relentlessness which overwhelmed him as much as it charmed him at times, as if she had to compensate that she wasn’t born a weaver by being tougher than what was necessary. Chiaying liked to pick fights, to disagree with everyone just because she could, and the only person who could calm her down was her oldest friend, Peishan Yang, making her presence in the Zhao residence a blessing for the peace of all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But today, even Peishan Yang’s friendship wasn’t enough to soothe the rage of his wife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you know this is stupid, why don’t you stop them?! You’re part of the weaver’s council!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They think I’m scared, I’ve tried everything but they won’t listen,” Yixuan Zhao frowned, fingers fidgeting with the cloth of her guqin. “I’ve been dismissed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rarely had Zhewei seen the calm woman so distressed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well if you’re ready to flee your country and abandon everyone in here after we finally became independent, maybe they’re right and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>scared.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chiaying’s rightful anger burned through the discussion, leaving no place for anything else. Every adult living in the residence was gathered in the main living room for this emergency, but the only ones who had spoken so far had been the two Zhao sisters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you suggest, then, Chiaying? Staying here and handling the consequences of this mistake? Are you willing to risk the future of your children for the sake of your stubborn-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let my children out of this!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wish I could!” Yixuan Zhao snapped, raising her voice for the first time. “I wish I could let them out of this- out of the war, out of this mistake the council is making, but we are all concerned, and if we don’t leave this is over for us and for them! Please, will you just hear me for once!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chiaying, please,” Peishan Yang whispered to her friend but went ignored.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you even so sure it’s a mistake?” she forged on, standing up in front of her sister. “What if you are just lying to all of us just because you’re tired of fighting? What if this shield will be the thing that will save us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not the only weaver here, ask anybody else who saw the plans, this is a western invention, and a bad one, why should we trust plans sold by a foreign merchant? When the council will be done weaving this shield, we won’t be protected from Lao Ang, we’ll be isolated from everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that the whole purpose? To isolate ourselves from Lao Ang so we can’t be invaded again?” Zhewei intervened, taking a stand by his wife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shot him a grateful look. His opinion didn’t bear weight in the matters of the Zhao family, but he would support her nonetheless, just to let her know she could count on him, always.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We will isolate ourselves from space and time itself, maybe even disappear from this reality,” Yixuan Zhao explained. “This isn’t a risk I’m willing to take, I want this family to survive in this world. Dewen is doomed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She is right,” an old uncle that had never spoken to Zhewei before grumbled. “This shield is madness, we should depart before the foolishness of the council swallows us all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still!” Chiaying held her ground. “This isn’t a reason to flee to</span>
  <em>
    <span> Lao Ang, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they’re the one we are fleeing from in the first place!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where else would we go? Another island at war with them? At least there we can mingle, speak their language, we even look like them, they’ll never find us there. We can continue to weave, we can keep living.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The fact you’re even considering this makes a traitor of you, they’ve killed so many of ours!” Chiaying spat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t hold a whole country responsible for the acts of a few,” Yixuan Zhao despaired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chiaying,” Peishan Yang tried again, resting her hand on her friend’s forearm. “Now isn’t the time to fight, we are all on the same side in this room. We have to think of our children and get away from here before it is too late and we are stopped by an attack or the council itself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will never step foot in Lao Ang,” she gritted her teeth but sat down beside her friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not asking you to, you know I hate this place as much as you do. Let’s go elsewhere, let’s take our families to safety.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His wife nodded, then turned to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The council!” someone yelled, barging in the living room. “They’re looking for you, miss Zhao! We’re holding them back at the gates.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ache spread in Zhewei’s chest. Was this really what they were reduced to? Fighting against their own? Didn’t the war with Lao Ang bring them enough enemies as it was? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to go,” the two Zhao sisters said at the same time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest was a blur, supplies carried in a rush, family members running around the residence, yells coming from the main entrance and Zhewei didn’t have the time to process anything apart from making sure Jaibei and Weicheng were with them. His son couldn’t understand what was going on, crying and clinging to Boyao who pretended to be brave as his daughter harassed him with questions he didn’t have any answers to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where are we going?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will we come back?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where are my friends?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why is Mom angry?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come with us,” Chiaying told Yixuan Zhao, fingers gripping the railing of the ship heading West they had boarded. “We are family, we should stick together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To do what? Go to a country so far away that I won’t speak the language, won’t understand the culture; where I might get hunted down for my weaving? Please Chiaying, Lao Ang is the best option.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waves were hitting the hull, birds crying as the sun shone on them without warming anybody from the wind howling. They would sail away quickly with this weather. He couldn’t see them, but Yixuan Zhao’s eyes were tracing invisible shapes in the air, and he could guess the threads of the shield were slowly closing around them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, then,” she whispered, staying on the shore as the captain of their ship yelled to weigh anchor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His wife turned away, refusing to let him see her tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was the last time he ever saw Yixuan Zhao.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here you go :) I’ll update the map and make a new timeline during this week, because there are too many things happening in different places at the same time, with different calendars xD so it might be confusing. I’ll also go back on the whole story and hyperlink all the pieces I’ve referred to to YouTube’s videos of said pieces so it’s easier to listen to them and know what they are about while reading the text. </p><p>Taking that into account, the next chapter should come somewhere next weekend if I’m motivated enough, or after that.</p><p>Also, to clear any misunderstanding, when I said last chapter I only had one chapter left to type, it doesn’t meant I only have one left to publish, I publish while keeping buffer chapters, to be able to go back and make changes if the needs arise. So while you’re reading chapter 12, I’m writing chapter 14.</p><p>That being said, the last chapter, chapter 15, will be huuuuge, probably longer than all the others, so be prepared for a grand finale. Just thinking about it makes me tired xD</p><p>Alright, have a nice day, that’s it for my author notes, I hope you enjoyed this and it clears up some of your questions!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 13: In the claws of the dragon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“We have to go back.”</p><p>“I know, we don’t really have a choice anyway. Everybody we know is there, I don’t want Toni, Ray, or Alex to disappear with Surie. Our families still aren’t here, too, so there’s a chance they’re stuck in Surie. We can’t let that happen."</p><p>“Okay, alright. We go, now,” Brett asserted in Surian, already turning back toward their room.</p><p>There was a shuffling noise as he started gathering their possessions, Oliver and Sophie following with confused expressions.</p><p>“I knew it would happen,” Eddy whispered.</p><p>“The shield?” Yixuan pushed back the plans toward him.</p><p>“No, I knew we would leave before sunrise.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay, I thought I could get this out Sunday, but writing the final chapter took me longer than anticipated (it's not that long, but really intense).</p><p>This chapter gives some more insights on the way weaving works and a few revelations here and there. </p><p>Thank you Ria for the wonderful beta reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 13: In the claws of the dragon</span>
</h1><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - November 5th</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(or Year 4609 of the Sun-Moon calendar - 13th day of the Dew Month)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophie watched as her thread rose above her head, wishing for a piano under her hands, even as she kept the sound of her violin going. She observed it move on its own, circle around her, float toward the broken pot Yixuan had placed there, argent tickling the shards, nudging them before wrapping around the pieces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the thread dissolved, shimmering away in silvery twinkles, the pot was back to its unbroken state.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did it!” she laughed, the last notes of Claire de Lune fading from her instrument. “It worked!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations,” she heard Eddy’s aunt say, among other words she couldn’t understand, but her proud smile was more than enough to communicate what she thought of Sophie’s progress on weaving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As an attack melomage, all she had ever done was to destroy. She had never fixed anything before, and it felt so much better. Her fingers traced the ceramic of the pot; not a dent, not a crack. She loved it; weaving was better than anything she had been taught at the Tower - there was no attack, no defense, it wasn’t built around war or battle. Weaving meant trying to see the patterns, see where the tapestry of the world was lacking, where it knotted, and gently weave it back to a smooth state. It meant not ordering anything to her threads, letting them go around and poke at broken things until they found something to fix, a balance to restore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sophie swallowed back a chuckle as Brett swore for the tenth time in less than an hour, still failing miserably at anything weaving related, while Eddy was silently simmering in his own frustration of not succeeding at something. Seeing them struggle so much was strange - verging on fun - when she could remember them threading advanced spells or playing whole concertos at barely fourteen, back in the Tower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was just the three melomages plus Yixuan in the music room. Oliver had left already, gone wandering in the village, claiming that watching them became boring when he couldn’t see the threads. He would probably come back later in the evening with a new funny story or random facts about life in Lao Ang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She spied on Brett leaning back against the wall, he glanced at the erhu in his lap, then at Eddy. A smirk grew on his lips and Sophie knew a second before he acted he was about to be a goblin. He took hold of the instrument, and with a succession of three notes, his red thread appeared, expanding and moving under its master’s volition, sneaking behind Eddy and tickling his ribs without warning; Brett’s cackles rivaled Eddy’s yelps in volume.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His erhu playing was still terrible, but it helped, in a way. They dealt with the trauma of war in different ways, and while for Sophie it meant relishing in weaving to compensate for the horrors she had done with her music, Brett couldn’t do the same. After that time he had almost killed the men that had tried to harm Oliver and herself, he had refused to even come close to a violin, refused to do any magic, wanting to cut everything that had to do with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the new instrument, Eddy’s careful reassurances, and Yixuan’s soft voice had managed to coax him out of his shell, day by day. She supposed it was different enough - the music they played, the magic they did, the teaching they had, the setting, and the environment - to not be associated with the triggering memories. Her heart grew fonder as his friend seemed to find joy in music again, even if he still couldn’t really weave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yixuan exhaled at their antics but didn’t stop them, only shaking her head. Only when Eddy grabbed the thread with his bare hands to stop the tickle attack did she speak. Her tone was drier than she was used to, and the frown on her face left little place to interpretation; she was scolding him. Sophie only managed to understand a few words - the ones they used most; </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘don’t’, ‘threads’, ‘music’, ‘not your body’. ‘We don’t know’.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s head retreated between his shoulders, a meek expression still letting petulance come from his mouth, and she glanced at Brett in the hopes of getting a clue what the nephew and aunt were discussing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s telling him he shouldn’t do that, threads are meant to be moved with music, not hands, and that it’s dangerous since we don’t know what could happen,” he helpfully supplied. “But now Eddy’s being stubborn and wants to experiment with this. They’ve had that argument a lot those past few days, so I guess it’ll just end up the way it always does: Eddy will agree with his aunt, then just do whatever he wants behind her back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you stop him, if it’s dangerous?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When have I ever been able to stop Eddy from doing anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Sophie started, a bit unsure. “I think the two of you struggle with weaving because you can’t just let go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Eddy tilted his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had given up for the day and had opted for a walk along the beach, breathing the air heavy with salt, enjoying the way their feet sank in the cool sand, the last rays of the sun disappearing behind the horizon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been thinking about this, and I think, Eddy, you’re too much of a control freak.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are,” Brett cut him with a smirk, chortling when he was smacked on the ass as retaliation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was glad they had finally figured out their relationship, but the constant public displays of affection made her roll her eyes. She hadn’t believed it was possible for them to act any more like a couple, but she had been so wrong it wasn’t even funny. Ray would have a field day if he could see this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was saying,” she started again, unable to stop a smile from climbing on her lips as she saw them staring at each other, ultimately happy for them. “You always want to have everything under your control, you want to understand everything and act or thread accordingly, so it scares you to let your thread roam free. I don’t think there is a simple solution to just learn to let go, but that’s just something I noticed. And you Brett-” she ignored Eddy’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘haha’. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You are too pushy, I think. You want to bend things to your will whatever happens, and just forge ahead, but you have to give time and space to weaving, you can’t just will it to happen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It makes sense,” Eddy mused aloud, sending her a grateful smile. “I’ll think about it, thanks for the insight, Soph.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” she smiled, before feeling a little bit devious. “By the way, Brett, you’ve got a mark on your neck,” she pointed to the dark smudge in his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he slapped his hand on it, sending a glare in Eddy’s direction. “Yeah, Huh- I practiced too much. Violin hickey, you know how it is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have your violin,” she deadpanned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could see Eddy biting his lips in an attempt not to laugh, eyes watering as the blush on Brett’s face spread to his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Relishing in stammered attempts at excuses, she chuckled but didn’t add anything more, dropping the subject.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They kept walking, the docks falling silent with the sun dipping behind the sea, the sound of the waves filling their ears. She was left alone at one point, the boys glancing at each other for a while before excusing themselves, probably off to have some private time she wanted nothing to know about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was feeling better. Her sense of purpose was still missing, somewhat, but in this tiny village, helping Yixuan teach the children, and learning to weave herself, with the quiet walks on the beach and the sea unfolding before her eyes; she felt at peace, balance finding its way in her chest. Maybe she was fixing herself with weaving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - November 10th</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(or Year 4609 of the Sun-Moon calendar - 18th day of the Dew Month) </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did Mom never talk about you?” Eddy rubbed his eyes, tired after hours of research. The night had fallen already, and his friends went to sleep with dusk while he stayed awake, nose buried in old papers and ancient characters with the company of his aunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered her saying how badly documented weaving was, but the amount of material in her music room begged to differ. He wished he could have enough time to read everything there was to know about it, it was fascinating, so different from everything they had been taught, and as he got lost in another paper, he almost forgot what the purpose of this research was, enthralled by the knowledge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We separated on bad terms,” she gave a sad smile, raising her gaze from the scroll she was studying. “Something bad happened in Dewen, something that made our whole country disappear, and as we ran away from it, we fought over where to go. She never forgave me for choosing Lao Ang.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lao Ang is part of the reason Dewen is no more. They occupied our island and most of the South Archipel for years until we rebelled and pushed them back. We were at war against them, as they tried to invade us again, but by trying to defend ourselves, we made everything worse.“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you- would you mind telling me what happened?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were no older than four at the time if I remember correctly… The irony in this,” Yixuan gave a soft laugh, brows furrowed as her fingers raked over an old document, “is that a shield was the reason we are all countryless.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wish I wasn’t, but I was right…” his aunt whispered by the end of her tale. “A few months later, Dewen disappeared, wiped out. The whole island has just been erased from existence, along with everyone we knew. Only a handful of us had been wise enough to flee in time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy gaped, trying to wrap his head around it, an alarm blaring in his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The shield. It was- it was a western shield you said?” he barely heard the sound of his own voice, already standing up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, a foreign merchant had sold it to a member of the weavers’ council more than fifty years ago, he was traveling on Madame Ho’s ship at the time, if I remember. She carries all sorts of strangeness from all over the world,” she added with a small smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I’ve got something to show you; a shield, I mean- the plan of a shield. Just- don’t move.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scrambled to the room he shared with everyone else, disturbing the slumber weighing heavy in the air, carried by their slow breathing. He opened his case to take the plans and nudged Brett’s lying form.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wake up! Sophie and Oliver, too. You need to hear this!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha- Bro? What’s- are you alright?” Brett blinked, voice made raspy by sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked confused, hands reaching up toward him, panic settling in his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, don’t worry, I’m fine,” he grabbed the fingers tracing his face and couldn’t help the smile on his lips, endeared by the caring. “I’m okay, this isn’t about me, this is about Surie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait- you say we need to hear this,” Oliver’s groggy voice came from behind him, “but it’s all gonna be in Angish, isn’t it? Soph and I won’t understand a thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll translate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How can you still not speak the language, with how much you talk?” Brett grumbled, still stealing glances at Eddy as he got up, probably not convinced that he was fine. “There isn’t a single person in this village you haven’t harassed with questions.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it about Surie, Eddy? Can you tell us a bit now, so we will have a point of reference while trying to follow the discussion,” Sophie hummed, already looking fresh even though she had just woken up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah it’s- it’s a long story, but to make it short, the shield they’re trying to set up in Surie- I think Dewen tried to use the same one years ago, and it backfired badly. Like, the-whole-country-disappeared-into-the-void-badly. So I wanna make sure it’s the same.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand was pushing the sliding door from their room to go back to the living room where Yixuan had already settled in front of the low table and had somehow managed to use the five minutes it had taken Eddy to wake up the others to make tea, four cups waiting for them as she was sipping her own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the low light and the night bearing down on them, the atmosphere was strangely similar to that of the first night they had spent here, he wouldn’t be surprised if, looking down in his cup, the leaves of the tea would unfurl in the exact same way, earthy taste invading his tongue. Maybe she was also wearing the same dress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something shimmering in front of him, threads weaving before his eyes, tightly knit, going straight from him to the door leading outside. He blinked and it disappeared. But the unsettled feeling stayed, as he pushed the plans toward his aunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Those are my notes. I’ve seen the plan of a shield, back in Surie - our government was trying to have melomages thread it when we left. I didn’t think it was important at the time, but maybe- maybe it’s the same one that was the source of Dewen’s downfall. I’ve copied the plans and studied them as best as I could, so it’s not the original, but maybe you’ll recognize it anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett frowned at him, hearing this, and Eddy switched back to Surian, recounting to his friends what his aunt had told him about Dewen while she was busy inspecting the papers he had slid in her direction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you tell me what your annotations mean? They are all in Surian…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat beside her, the tea forgotten on the table, getting cold as he discussed the details of the shield with his aunt. He was vaguely aware of Oliver yawning in the background and Sophie nervously trimming her nails, he could also feel the heaviness of Brett’s attention on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It can be nothing else,” Yixuan lowered the plans down, the softness of her face leaving place to worry, etched in the lines of her mouth and eyes. “I am not sure it matches exactly the one I saw all those years ago, but I trust your notes and research are right, Weicheng. If the purpose of this is to isolate and cut the link with everything outside, then I fear this is based on the western plans of the shield that wiped Dewen from the map. I don’t even think it can be called a shield at this point, it’s more of a blade cutting through reality.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh-” Brett started but went ignored.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But some details are wrong. I don’t understand why, but it seems to rely on an outside source of energy, one that is not linked to your musicians.” Yixuan turned the papers toward Eddy and pointed at a line in the spell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t managed to understand this part properly on his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Energy, you say...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It started to make sense, now that he knew it had to do with that. Pieces slowly coming together, as he traced the notes drawn on the paper, the symbols below.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s true, it looks wrong. I think- couldn’t that part mean...” he trailed off again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is people.” Yixuan’s mouth thinned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God. You’re right! It’s energy from people. What does this mean? Will they die? The people they’re taking energy from? Not that it will matter if the whole of Surie ends up disappearing into the void, but-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy!” Brett’s voice pierced his concentration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck! Think for a minute, if Surie disappears, that means the Tower will too!” he turned to Yixuan. “You say his existence is linked to Tower before. What happens if it goes into the void? Won’t Eddy disappear too?” he sounded panicked by now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- oh, I suppose so,” the frown seemed to be permanently painted on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then we need to stop that, we need to go back!” he was already standing, pacing in the room, distress flowing through his speech mixing languages. “It could happen any time, it’s already a miracle you’re still here Eddy, I won’t take any chance. You were right, Yixuan Zhao, coming here was a mistake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We couldn’t have known…” Eddy’s voice was soft as he tried to grab his partner’s arm to stop him from the incessant back and forth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have to go back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, we don’t really have a choice anyway. Everybody we know is there, I don’t want Toni, Ray, or Alex to disappear with Surie. Our families still aren’t here, too, so there’s a chance they’re stuck in Surie. We can’t let that happen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, alright. We go, now,” Brett asserted in Surian, already turning back toward their room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a shuffling noise as he started gathering their possessions, Oliver and Sophie following with confused expressions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I knew it would happen,” Eddy whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The shield?” Yixuan pushed back the plans toward him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I knew we would leave before sunrise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. It was- it seemed written in front of my eyes. I could see the pattern, I could see it leading us outside, for a brief moment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is strange… It seems you got a glimpse at the tapestry of the world,” she took a sip of her tea then turned her head toward the bedroom they had shared those past weeks. “No need to rush outside now, Boyao Yang, this is the middle of the night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It took us weeks to come here, who knows how long the way back will be?” Brett bit back, already dragging a bag of their meager belongings with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It might be faster than you think-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy’s not dematerializing again,” he cut her, the ferocity in his eyes burning something in Eddy’s guts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would never suggest this,” Yixuan frowned. “What he did in that Tower was stupid and dangerous-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We agree on that,” Brett added, nudging Eddy’s thigh with his foot. “Get up, we have to go, I took your violin already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yixuan sighed, her hand on Eddy’s shoulder enjoining him to stay seated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me, Boyao-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My name’s Brett.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very well, listen to me then, Brett. Wait until early morning, catch a few hours of sleep. I am as worried about my nephew as you are, but you might have a faster way to get to the West than a ship. Running off in the night won’t do you any good. I will accompany you, too, as far as I can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy wrapped his hand around his best friend’s thin leg to get his attention. “Listen to her, Brett. What’s a few hours if it can make us gain weeks of travel?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then,” he reluctantly put down the violin case and bags.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell me what’s going on?” Oliver whined. “Are we leaving or not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they rested, for what was probably the last time in a long while, curled together on their mattress, Brett thought he could hear the strum of the guqin, in the garden at the back of the house, and fell asleep to Eddy’s breathing and the slow notes cradling the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - November 11th</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(or Year 4609 of the Sun-Moon calendar - 19th day of the Dew Month)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The harbor was small, only a few sailors sitting near crates waiting to be loaded in the three ships staying at the docks and some kids playing on the dirty port. They had woken up before the first rays of the sun and walked all day to get there, under Yixuan’s guidance. None of them had understood why she had insisted on stopping at this tiny city, with an even more insignificant harbor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But in the shadow of the black and golden lacquered ship, with its dragon figurehead roaring at them, impossible to miss among her smaller peers floating at her side, they knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing further away, under the low lights of the evening, the sun dipping behind the sea casting warm hues in harmony with her red dress pooling around her ankles, Madame Ho stood a head taller than all of them, ignoring everything that wasn’t the gentle-faced woman in front of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miss Zhao,” she said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even from how far he was, Eddy thought he could see what looked to be the hint of a smile in her gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Madame Ho,” Yixuan replied, the crinkles of her eyes deepening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I seem to have heard the music of you guqin through the night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does this mean you have an answer to my proposition?” the owner of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Golden Dragon</span>
  </em>
  <span> stepped closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will give you one, but this isn’t the main reason I called you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Business then, I am always interested in hearing what you have to say. But first, I have a gift for you. I happened to see a singular thing in Port Magreda some time ago, I thought it would be a nice addition to your music room.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snapped her finger at the man behind her who went inside the ship then swiftly returned with an object wrapped in clothes. She removed it and presented the black case to Yixuan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is a western instrument, I thought it was rare, and after examination, it is an ancient violin from Rangan, around two hundred years old if the expert was right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s your violin!” Eddy gasped as Yixuan opened the case, hand reaching to grasp Brett’s arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Madame Ho blinked and finally turned her head toward them, black hair falling like a curtain over her shoulder. She gave them a cold stare, then recognition spread in her eyes, not washing down how uninterested she looked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are the guests that traveled on my ship in exchange for this violin, are you not? Do you know them, miss Zhao?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s aunt smiled and beckoned for them to come closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This my nephew, Weicheng Chen, his partner Boya-” she stopped and looked at Brett for an instant before shaking her head and starting over. “Brett Yang. Sophie Druml and Oliver Ledbetter are their friends.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, your family. I didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am very thankful for your gift, Madame Ho, but would you mind terribly if I gave back this violin to its original owner?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman scoffed. “This is yours now, do whatever you want with it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She closed the case and handed it to Brett who hesitated, fingers hovering over the handle... And only grabbed it when Eddy nudged him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to come aboard to discuss your business?” she offered, and never had Eddy seen her so polite, even after spending weeks on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Golden Dragon</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think it would be preferable if we were sailing indeed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t had you at sea with me in a long time,” Madame Ho gave an appreciative hum and in three long strides, was walking the bridge to her ship. “Come along.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” Oliver whispered in Eddy’s ear as they climbed on the black and golden ship for the second time in their life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My aunt and Madame Ho seem to be long term friends, I think she’ll help us if my aunt is the one to ask, but I don’t know yet in which manner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Friend,” Sophie snorted, but let it at that even when Eddy sent her a quizzical glance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spied on Brett walking ahead, catching up with his aunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for snapping, yesterday,” he heard him apologize. “I- I don’t really mind when you call me Boyao. It’s just been a long time since anybody called me that… And it just- it makes me miss my parents. But I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was always a revelation to see Brett vulnerable. Every time he opened up and let people see past the strong and unwavering front he was always displaying, it felt like being allowed to cradle the most precious things in your hands and left Eddy short on breath. Wanting to reach and to protect, to let him crumble in his arms if he wanted to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could do nothing of the sort, at this instant, so he let his fingers flirt with Brett’s, silent support as they walked the deck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stood at the railing, giving some privacy to the two older women discussing softly, watching the sea as the sailors got the ship to take the wind in practiced moves, the harbor getting even smaller the further from it they went until the children playing at the docks were but colorful dots. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sharp noise of Madame Ho’s steps on the wooden deck stopped behind them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miss Zhao asked, so I will do the call,” she started without preamble. “But the rest will be up to them, I cannot force them to do anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy opened his mouth to ask, but Madam Ho ordered him to close it with a gesture of her hand and yelled to grab on to something, which every member of the crew did without asking any question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anticipation built inside Eddy, heart beating in his throat as he remembered the last time he had to do that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Be grateful to your aunt, this is a huge favor,” Madam Ho snorted before turning toward the sea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sounds tumbled from her mouth, getting faster as the wind picked up, as the wave grew higher, as the clouds gathered, grey and heavy above the sails. Her voice was still loud, louder than the water hitting the hull, than the thunder rolling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A flash of light snapped from the sky to the sea, Eddy breathed in, terrified and in awe, then he could see it. The threads, the raised arm stirring them, the chanting moving the fabric of the world. Then he lowered his gaze toward his best friend and gasped. Between Brett and him, pulsing and shining like a tiny sun, woven together, were hundreds of threads, stronger than any spell, any magic, anything he had ever seen, of every color, every thickness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy? Are you alright? What’s happening? Fuck, are you unphasing?” Brett’s voice was almost drowned by the wind and waves, but he let go of the railing to scramble in his direction, unconscious of the tempest shaking the ship. He tripped and Eddy panicked, already seeing him fall over the railing, into the furious water. So he latched on to their link, grabbed the threads of them with his hands, pulled, almost burned himself, screamed as they blazed his fingers, as hot as they shined.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thunder and lightning, water and wood, screams, and laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Brett fell into him, away from the threatening sea, and he turned his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In front of them, roaring, almost touching him with his antenna, the dragon of light danced, watching them, eyes flickering toward the threads of their bond, and huffed through its nostrils. Then its long body unfolded, a straight arrow of gold from the black sea to the grey sky, spinning upward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And in its claws, four human bodies.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>They really didn't stay long in Lao Ang.</p><p>When I told my best friend about this chapter, I said they had to go back to Surie because they had "forgotten something" cause I didn't want to spoil her. Once she read it she deadpanned "Oh. That's what they forgot. Just Eddy's life."</p><p>I hope you enjoyed seeing a bit more of Madame Ho, Yixuan Zhao, and the dragon. Next chapter will be back in Surie for the climax. </p><p>Also, I updated the timeline, check it out, it took me a long time, but it's finally clear. I also added a spoiler system, tell me what you think. </p><p>I don't have much left to write (an interlude and an epilogue) so the next chapter should come sooner than usual. Probably this weekend :)</p><p>Have a nice day, thanks for reading and commenting!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Gregor (Reminiscence of an old world)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>An overview of what's happening in Surie while the others were in Lao Ang. If the timeline confuses you, don't hesitate to check the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142046/chapters/63601054">annex</a>, it might help.</p><p>Thank you Ria for the beta reading!! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Gregor (Reminiscence of an old world)</span>
</h1><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - October 25th</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slammed his hands on the table, knocking the chair over in the movement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can’t let them get away with it!” he growled. “Hidden like little rats in the palace! We need to burn the place down to get the rats to leave!’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The eldest Chen ignored his outburst and stood up to pick up the chair before a hand on his arm forced him to sit down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noah had barely changed over the years, appearance locked in that in-between where it was impossible to tell how old he was; he dragged exhaustion with him like a second skin, too lazy to shave the stubble on his pale face or properly cut the hair falling in his eyes, sarcasm, and insults dripping from his lips as easily now as they did ten or twenty years ago. He would be the last person anyone would consider taking care of children but he somehow had managed to be hired by another school as a music teacher after being fired from the previous one. Gregor would never understand how his friend worked; claiming he hated kids and despised music, yet always finding his way back around both those things, fingers lazily stroking the piano keys when he visited him, ranting about the little runts he had to educate while Gregor made them tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, Old Gregor, you’re too ancient to get angry like that, it’s bad for your heart. Leave the theatrics to the youngsters,” his old friend sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gregor humphed but obeyed, his grumbling interrupted by the voice of the woman facing him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t a simple affair,” she cocked her head, eyes looking past him as she was lost in thought. “Master Omon was the one who threaded the shield surrounding the palace and he was known for his proficiency at it even back when I was just a student in the Tower, I don’t think we’ll manage to break it with pure force.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lines around her mouth and eyes spoke of a person used to laughter, but he hadn’t seen a smile on Hilary Hahn’s face since first being introduced to her a few weeks ago. The only times he had seen the hint of happiness on her face, she had turned her head to look at the empty space behind her, and all traces of cheer had disappeared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can still try,” he muttered under his beard in Rangan and got an eye roll from Noah.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure it’s that impossible? You did manage to break into the Tower after all,” the mother of Belle and little Eddy spoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We had help from the inside,” Belle replied with a gesture toward a dark-skinned melomage. “I don’t think we would have managed to do anything more than shake things up if the door hadn’t been opened to us, thanks to Master Deauclaire. I don’t think we can expect the same from the people inside the Palace.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe a siege is the only option here,” another young violinist with eyes and hair not unlike Brett and Eddy hummed. “They can’t stay holed up in there forever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, it’s risky to just wait it out. Don’t forget all the countries we are at war against are starting to understand how much of a mess our situation is, and they’ll just walk on us while we wait for the government to do something,” Belle frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we should let them thread that giant shield to protect the country first, then deal with them...” another man who Gregor hadn’t bothered to remember the name of intervened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never!” Belle and Eddy’s mother snapped. “I told you what happened to my country. And my son is still out there- No. We can’t let that happen!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gregor groaned and stood up, hooking his violin case on his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t join this revolution to speak of politics sitting at a table in a white Tower with too many stairs. Tell me when you’ve reached a decision. Hopefully, it implies burning a palace or two.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He carried his heavy body through the room, grumbling all the while, and slowly got down the stairs, swearing to himself never to climb them up again. He hadn’t been around this many people since his last days as a performer when he was still a Rangan citizen, and one of the most famous violinists there. It was far enough in his past that his hermit life in his little house with the red roof was all he was used to by now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Noah had knocked on his doors, a few weeks ago, he had expected him to be there for another tea session speaking ill of those kids he liked, not his old friend to be flanked by two Angish women, throwing a “Fancy a revolution?” at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He always fancied a revolution - a bit too much, even - that was why he had had to flee Rangan in the first place and give up on his career. Noah probably knew he would be unable to resist the appeal, the little shit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to admit, it had been grandiose to watch the little Belle and the High Mage Hahn unleash their fury on the door of the Tower whose shadow had captured musical talent after another for their war. But he longed for some more action now; it wasn’t a true revolution until you threw explosives at your opponents, yelling your revendications. Unfortunately, Mrs. Chen had insisted on a peaceful protest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sitting outside, on the steps of a building facing the Tower, he had gotten his violin out and was playing some folk songs from Rangan, laughing loudly when children came around and danced despite the conflict. It had been a long time since he had played for anybody, not counting the demonstrations he had done for little Brett and Eddy all those years ago. The situation was tense inside Prass, but people recognized him as the one who stood with Mrs. Chen when the Tower had been taken and left him be, some sending a nod in his direction every once in a while, others keeping their distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take very long for Noah to get out of the Tower, too. His feet dragging as he stood in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can see this audience is on par with the musician,” he snorted before shooing the kids off. “Scram, brats. The grown-ups need to talk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How you even got a husband, I’ll never understand, ah!” Gregor frowned as he watched the children grumble and protest as they scattered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well I didn’t keep him for very long, did I?” his friend sat beside him, face not revealing anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop being sorry for yourself, you were lucky to know love! All that sadness won’t help you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noah shook his head with a huff. “I somehow keep forgetting you’re a hermit and fucking incapable of taking social cues. Let me help you a little. When your friends are sad about departed ones, you pat them on the shoulder saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m very sorry for you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what good will it do? Will you stop hurting over Adam then? No, so don’t try to tell me what I can and cannot say! And you’re so scrawny, if I hit you on the shoulder you’ll go flying!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, I am incapable of saying if I appreciate your company or not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you even here, if you don’t?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After your outburst, they started making decisions a bit more quickly, it seems there will be violence involved, I thought you would be happy to know,” Noah stated, managing to both answer his question and avoid it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what will we do?” Gregor perked up at the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>violence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Those who can attack will try and break the shield around the Palace, while a siege is being maintained at the same time to stop the government officials or anyone associated with them from going anywhere. We have hope that under the pressure of both the blockade and the repeated attacks, they’ll crack and try to negotiate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can’t negotiate with governments! They’ll fuck us over!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not really surprised the first thing you learned in Surian were insults, you’re quite well versed in them for a foreigner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Believe me, I know even more in Rangan!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No doubt about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They let the silence fall over them, watching the open doors of the Tower, Gregor’s fingers plucking the strings of his violin, itching to go back to his house and make some tea, an addiction he had developed after quitting alcohol.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, Old Gregor,” Noah started unprompted. “As fun as it is to hear you yell about throwing governments over, it might be best for everyone not to have a fucking bloodshed in our capital when we’re already at war against half the damn continent. Maybe it’s good you aren’t in charge of that one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gregor knew this, but this didn’t stop him from huffing. Nothing good ever came out of trying to negotiate, he could still remember the screams in the streets during the Rangan revolutions, the utter lack of acceptance of anything that wasn’t complete surrender. He glanced at his friend, tired eyes gazing at the higher levels of the Tower where Hilary Hahn, the Chen women, a few Masters, and others were making decisions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did you even join this movement? You’re not a melomage, you have no stake here. Did little Belle ask you and you just said yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This ripped a dry chuckle from his friend’s throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pretty much, this brat is gifted in harassing people when she wants something, I knew I had no chance of saying no- too tiring. But I was already hanging around when she spotted me, the mess her mother started had me… intrigued, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not entirely sure… I felt guilty, maybe. I was the reason those kids - Belle, Brett, and Eddy I mean - those runts learned music because of me. Because they saw the orbs Adam had made for me, because I ended up teaching Belle, because I was too weak to the boys and sent them to you. And when they were taken by the Tower- and in my own music room too- it just left a bitter aftertaste.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not as detestable as you seem at first sight, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, I am. Please don’t start thinking I’m nice, I would be offended.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gregor burst out laughing, loud and boisterous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t die during the raid on the palace, I would be mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! I enjoyed bringing back those two characters that were essential in Brett and Eddy's childhood.</p><p>Thanks also for the comments and support on the previous chapters, I always really enjoy reading through them, it motivates me to keep going!</p><p>I've also written a one-shot yesterday, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642592/chapters/67635175">My heart fluttering against your skin</a> I'll post the second part tomorrow, go check it out!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 14: Ripping a shield</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What was going on was a civil war. One part of Surie wanted to overthrow the government, take back their independence, avenge family members, and some just strived for chaos. The other part desired to protect their country from outside and inside menaces and go with the Emperor's plan to use melomages to build the giant shield, as Bellani and Glanne had already progressed through their borders.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finally, here comes the next chapter, with them back in Surie! </p><p>Thank you Ria for the beta reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 14: Ripping a shield</span>
</h1><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - November 11th</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wind whipping at his face, shaky fingers clasped around his glasses, he wanted to yell but his breath was stuck in his lungs. Up and down didn’t have any more sense than time, they pierced clouds, twisted in the sky, followed the night, chasing the evening dusky lights in the grasp of the golden dragon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver was touching the claw carrying them with reverence and curiosity, for once reduced to silence, and Brett raised his head, catching a glimpse of the dragon’s eye as it curled on itself, seeming to check on the four humans it held against its body. Something shriveled inside him when he remembered the dragon he had choked to death on the front, Amalea’s screams, the notes of the Kreutzer sonata swarming his mind with regret. He hoped this one couldn’t read his thoughts. Would it drop them in the sea if it knew? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A shiver racked his body, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. It was impossible to talk with the speed they were going at, but feeling him shudder, Eddy closed his arm around him, getting him closer to his heat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if the cold wasn’t the source of his reaction, Brett welcomed the embrace, a different warmth chasing the darkness of his thoughts away as a hand stroked his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Furious tugging on the sleeve of his jacket made him turn his head toward Oliver who was pointing at the ground; the sea was no more, underneath them, the cities and fields of Surie spread on the land. But Brett barely paid it any attention, because the dragon curled again, its giant head coming to face them, as it hovered in a slow circle above the country. Its eyes flickered toward the ground, then to them again, and Brett’s heart was beating out of its throat. It knew. It knew for sure Brett had killed a dragon, there was no way those eyes couldn’t read into his mind. His breathing was fast and he shook when the dragon huffed with an air of impatience.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s right there!” Sophie yelled above the wind, arm pointing in the direction of the capital from which slow motions of threads were visible. “The city with the giant white tower. It’s there!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dragon nodded, and only when gold ceased to be all that filled his view could Brett exhale, marveling that Sophie had managed to understand what the mythical beast wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The golden body tensed, coiled on itself like a snake getting ready to spring on its prey. Then it unfurled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They plunged toward Prass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you what the fuck! Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>what-the-fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> me when a freaking dragon made of lightning just dropped you here!” Ray pulled at his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Also, you were supposed to be dead! The three of you!” Alex gaped, hand waving in the direction of the melomages.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying you’re unhappy we’re not dead?” Brett smirked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t seen their defense friends in years, but it was a relief to see they hadn’t changed that much even with the mayhem overtaking their country. They had landed squarely on the plaza at the foot of the Tower, not expecting the doors to be wide open, defense melomages out, and fights in the street.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m dragon sick,” Eddy muttered on the side, hands at his stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belle patted him absently on the back, eyes still tracking the sky where the dragon had disappeared to, while Oliver stole glances at her, but kept his distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah! Your skepticism can take that, Alex! Even after Belle told him she had seen both of you alive, he kept telling me not to get my hopes up. But I was right in the end,” Ray beamed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad to be wrong, this time,” Alex’s smile was more subdued but still genuine. “But maybe there was a more subtle way to come back than with a flying giant golden dragon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen that kind of dragon before, except in old paintings from Dewen,” Belle whispered, still in awe. “We’ve got some catching up to do. Mom will be overjoyed too, she kept saying it was a mistake that you left for Lao Ang, what made you come back?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett sobered up, as happy as he was to see their friends again, he couldn’t forget why they were here. “We don’t have time to catch up. Why isn’t the shield up yet? When we left, the Emperor was already speaking about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We stopped it from happening,” Alex gave a lopsided grin. “A group of melomage rebelled against the Masters and the higher-ups of the Tower after your Mom started an uprising in Prass. It was utter chaos for a while, and a bunch of people faithful to the Emperor left to hole themselves up in the Imperial Palace. We’re trying to get in there, but we’re struggling.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Tower is ours now! High Mage Hahn and Belle came and helped us to take it down. Not literally,” Ray added.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hilary is here?” Brett perked up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She is. She arrived not long after I did. She… There’s something you should know before speaking with her,” Belle hesitated, eyes finally leaving the sky to focus on them. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell but… Remember the explosion on the 21st of September?” They nodded, dread pooling low in Brett’s stomach. “Arne died.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The bodyguard?” Eddy frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude, he wasn’t just a bodyguard,” Brett mumbled, emptiness spreading.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is fucked up,” he racked a hand through his hair, unable to process what he was feeling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know Arne that well, but if the man was anything to Hilary like what Eddy was to him, he wondered how she was still standing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! You there! Are you melomages?” a voice interrupted them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A group of knights, worn down but standing proud, marched toward them. The plaza in front of the Tower was empty except for them; Alex, Ray, and Belle still wrapped in their shimmering coats, impossible to miss. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit, we need to scram!” Alex ordered. “Follow me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett had thought they would seek refuge in the Tower, but they had run - like no melomage should be running - passed blocked streets and closed houses until they reached a makeshift camp surrounding the Imperial Palace, artifacts spread around as protection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let us in!” Ray yelled to a group of melomage threading a shield.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The defenses adjusted their playing, slowing down the music until the threads let an opening for them, picking up the speed as the knights came into view behind them, tightening it again.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why…” Oliver panted as the men fumed on the other side of the shield, hitting it with their sword for good measure. “Why are we chased by other knights? What is going on here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What was going on was a civil war. One part of Surie wanted to overthrow the government, take back their independence, avenge family members, and some just strived for chaos. The other part desired to protect their country from outside and inside menaces and go with the Emperor's plan to use melomages to build the giant shield, as Bellani and Glanne had already progressed through their borders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not exactly a shield,” Eddy remembered the words of his aunt. “It’s a reality-cutting-blade in the shape of a shield. It will sever our connection with reality, isolate Surie until it disappears into the void.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His words didn’t elicit the response he had been expecting. There was no surprise on the faces of his audience, just worry. They knew almost all the people gathered here, in the court facing the gates of the Palace; their defense friends from the Tower, some Masters, Hilary Hahn, his sister, and even - ripping a surprised chuckle from them - Old Gregor, looking as ancient, sounding as exuberant as the last time they saw him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom said so...” Belle frowned, biting her lower lip. “This doesn’t really change our situation, but now that we’re sure, we really have to bring the shield around the Palace down before they finish threading it. Any new ideas, Hilary?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were in the siege established weeks ago by Hilary and the others, which had the double purpose of protecting themselves from the army trying to capture any isolated melomage they could find to bring them back to the Emperor, and try to bring down the shield Master Omon had threaded. It was an in-between, an isolated space of attack and defense alike amid the chaos of the capital. The court surrounding the Palace used to be splendid; marble columns on every side, the paved ground kept clean, benches allowing any visitor to sit and observe the grandeur of the Imperial residence. It was now a cluster of furnitures, makeshifts beddings, leftover food was strewn around, instruments stacked in every free space - there was even a piano that had been brought there - melomages and civilians discussing with tired features - </span>
  <em>
    <span>This looks like our camp at the eastern border, but messier - </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brett had murmured, enforcing the atmosphere of war Eddy was getting from this setup. Those who couldn’t fight, like his mother or their old music teacher, were safe in the Tower, planning ahead supplies and defense from there, under the protection of Master Deauclaire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, Master Omon was the one who taught me how to thread shields, but I’ve never managed to pass them,” Hilary massaged her eyes with a sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark circles marred her skin, lines on her face making her seem older than usual, the cheer in her voice had left, her tone hollow. She had given them a genuine smile and a hug when they had reunited, but it had soon disappeared when faced with the bad news they carried with them. Everybody looked exhausted, but Hilary was empty. Her music was lacking, as she attacked the shield, threads a lackluster gold, melody forgotten. Nobody mentioned it, skirting around the subject of her loss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe Eddy can make a discretion spell strong enough to pass,” Brett suggested. “He’s always been insanely good with those.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can try, but the only times I managed to get past Master Omon’s shields, my spell was only hiding the both of us, Brett. I don’t think I can manage to make it for more than two people, much less the small army we have here. And this one seems much sturdier than the ones we crossed as teenagers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So we’re back to the hit-it-very-strongly-hoping-it-breaks plan…” Old Gregor nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Music still filled their ears as attacks tried to harass the shield; Shostakovich, Prokofiev, and Beethoven mingling in a cacophony reminiscing of the Tower. Their group stood silent, watching the multicolored threads slowly rising from the Palace as the night fell, intertwining above their head to form the blade that would cut them off from the rest of the world. Musicians taking turns with exhaustion painted on their face and a drag on their body movements.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so out of it,” Ray covered his face with his hands and breathed loudly. “This is making me way too tired.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop complaining, everyone here is drained!” Old Gregor bellowed. “But they keep on trying!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mh, there might be an explanation for that,” Eddy stated, biting his finger in thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That might have a very slight connection with the fact that we’ve been maintaining this siege for the past three weeks or so, but what do I know?” Alex quipped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow, the sarcasm came back, you must be really happy they’re alive,” Ray snorted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy ignored his friends but spied on Brett rolling his eyes with fondness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s about that thing you said back in Yi Lin, isn’t it?” Sophie inquired “About energy coming from people.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, from what Aunt Zhao and I gathered, the spell is too powerful to be threaded by just a small bunch of melomage for such a big country, and since you guys took the Tower, they can’t rely on the acoustic lines there to strengthen the spell. They’re stealing energy from the people of Surie to make it work. So people are quite literally drained.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn…” Ray shook his head, eyes racking over the people moving around them, fighting tiredness in every move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long do you think we have until they are done with the spell?” Sophie sat on the piano bench and let her fingers run through a few scales.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s hard to know precisely, they’ve been at it for weeks now,” Hilary sighed. “I thought we would manage to breach the shield and invade the Palace before, but we’ve been stuck here watching the threads rise for what feels like forever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Toni tried to estimate that by observing the patterns of the threads intertwining,” Alex pointed in the direction of the girl in a heated discussion with other defense melomages. “It’s taking time because they can’t rely on the Tower’s acoustic nexus anymore. She’s not sure, but they should be finished soon - in the next few days probably, and we are no closer to breaching Master Omon’s shield, so we are kind of at the end of our rope here. Even Ray didn’t manage to stay optimistic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy had avoided his ex-girlfriend with care, feeling too tired to give her any explanation regarding the new proximity between Brett and himself. She was still as smart, still as gorgeous as before, he mused as he watched her argue from afar, but as he felt his best friend’s weight rest against him, unconsciously seeking contact, all thoughts of her flew from his head, enjoying the silent support, hiding the fondness of his smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We could try weaving,” Sophie hummed, watching her thread rise from the piano without purpose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We still suck at it,” Brett grimaced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” she shrugged back, and the meaningless pattern of her music shifted, taking on the recognizable melody of Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A soft smile climbed on her lips, the unaltered joy of being able to play her main instrument again. She missed a few notes, fingers clumsy after so long afar from the piano, but it didn’t stop the rising of the melody, body moving closer or further from the keys as Rachmaninoff’s anguish supplanted all other music, silver threads moving on their own, caressing the shield, crawling over it, tugging at the pattern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had gotten her melody back, Eddy’s heart quickened. A few weeks in Lao Ang and she was melting in it again, magic stronger than ever. He could feel the tingling of threads, the music resonating inside of him, pleased and purring at the service Sophie was giving. He glanced at Brett whose jaw was hanging open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Incredible!” Old Gregor exclaimed, eyes twinkling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” his sister shuffled closer to him. “Why does she sound like this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s the melody, isn’t it?” Brett answered in his stead. “She got it back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy nodded, unable to talk under the sensations invading his body, crawling under his skin, prickles of notes shaking his core. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the irony of the situation hit him. Sophie, who had been so worried about not having purpose and losing herself, was the first one to find her way back to the music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was vaguely aware of shuffling near him but didn’t heed any attention to it. The silver threads tugged and pulled at the tight net of Master Omon’s shield, trying to slither in between, to deconstruct the forced pattern. But they lacked strength and as soon as they managed to make a hole large enough for a needle to sneak in, the shield tightened again. Such a work of art, Master Omon’s shields, Eddy had always thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he could see now; the disturbance, the way the spell stretched the fabric of the world, bending it to its will, forcing the unnatural shape. The music was stronger, the threads closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he could touch them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could help.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Belle, if Sophie’s thing works and we go raiding the Palace, can I talk to you for a second?” Brett heard Oliver speak, subdued like he rarely was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What for?” Eddy’s sister snapped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just hear me out, please? I want to apologize.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saw the hesitation in Belle’s eyes before she gave a sharp nod and they walked a few steps away from Eddy and himself. He was mildly curious but let them have their privacy, before feeling his mouth dry when he noticed the look Hilary was giving the two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back,” he whispered to his best friend with a hand on his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no good way to start the discussion, to let her know how sorry he was for her, to relieve her of her pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he just stood by her side for a while, the piano going soft under Sophie’s hands, cradling them in pianissimo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he ended up saying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t your fault.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hilary sighed, not meeting his eyes. “Maybe I will be one day, maybe I’ll die before that. I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy! What are you doing?” Belle yelled, snapping Brett away from his tentative at comfort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Rachmaninoff concerto had stopped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His best friend had closed the distance between him and the shield, and threads were falling apart in his hands, as he tugged and grasped at them, almost manically, looking at things he was the only one seeing. He yanked the thread in his hand with more force, and it came, unthreading, breaking the pattern of the shield. It shimmered, one last time, and fell apart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had ripped Master Omon’s shield. With his bare hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he fell on his knees and screamed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy!” he ran toward him, chest emptying as his hands went through him. Which didn’t make any sense. They were surrounded by music, sounds exploding around them, and the Tower was so near. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had stopped screaming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter the number of times he had to witness this, the panic never abated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you unphasing? Fuck Eddy, what did you do!” he swore as he opened his case, violin under his chin before he even finished his sentence, Paganini flowing from his instrument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashes in his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He played but nothing happened, no feelings surging through him. He couldn’t feel Eddy through the wristband.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brett!” Belle raged, kneeling near her unphasing brother with shaking hands. “What’s happening?! I thought he was fixed! I thought you came back because he is okay now!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, no. We- we-” he stammered, fingers trembling on the strings. “He needed- the Tower- he has to- we had to come back here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His music fell apart. It wasn’t working, Eddy wasn’t coming back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brett!” Oliver shook him, and he realized he was hyperventilating. “She taught you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miss Zhao! She taught you! The spell to stabilize Eddy!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t- fuck, I don’t know how to weave, what if I make it worse? Sophie!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nodded and sat back at the piano, some Chopin’s Nocturne that could barely be heard under the yells of people flowing inside the now unprotected Palace. Her silvery threads floated above Eddy’s body, before being pushed back, slapping her in the face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She yelped, falling backward, cradling her cheek, the piece ending with the keys smashed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t it work? Sophie!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know- he just rejected me!” she sputtered as Oliver was helping her stand up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brett! Do something!” Belle panicked, hands hovering above her brother’s body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was crying, he realized. Eddy’s body was almost transparent now, wavering out of reality, and nothing was working. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy, please, let me help you… Don’t go,” he choked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still gripping his violin, knuckles white; the violin he hadn’t hesitated to give away for Eddy’s sake- and all for nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boat, the dragon, Lao Ang, weaving, Surie, it had all been for the single purpose of keeping Eddy, and he was failing, his life disappearing under his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saw a blue thread rise from Eddy’s body, crawling away from him, and it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had to stay whole.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he moved his bow again, one long note, and started weaving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let go. There was nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>could do anymore. Red danced away from him, not hesitating, flying straight for Eddy, his threads moving with the pulsing of his heart, following the Sibelius tearing him down. His best friend’s favorite piece, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the last piece I would like to hear before I died, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he remembered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The salt of his tears trickled down his cheeks, fat drops on the wood of his violin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t a defense melomage, he was crap at spells, and even worse at weaving, but as his threads wrapped around Eddy, his best friend welcomed them, the blue threads escaping him intertwining with the red, guiding them until they pulsed together, and Brett had renounced to any form of control over what was happening, he just kept playing, kept praying, suddenly a religious man bowing at the altar of anything that would give him his partner back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then it stopped. The purple surrounding Eddy faded, shimmering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belle touched her brother and gasped when he stayed solid under her hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His violin forgotten on the nearest surface, Brett’s tunnel vision only allowed him to close the space separating him from his best friend, his breath not leaving his lungs until he felt him. Warm skin under his fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s when he noticed he wasn’t breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the cliff-hanger, but the next part should come soon because I f* finished writing MeloMania! :D</p><p>I still have some heavy editing to do, but I typed the last word of the epilogue today. Hooray! I'm so happy, this story has been going on for so long xD I have 250 pages on my Google Doc, I can barely believe it.</p><p>I'll probably be emotional when I publish the last chapter, bear with me until then &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Audric I (story of a merchant)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You are crazy, you know that,” she turned toward him, love and admiration spilling from her eyes. “Amir Lyan, the merchant from Khan, Audric the First, the new Emperor of Surie.”</p><p>“I was born under a lucky star,” he laughed, feeling like the world was in the palm of his hand.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I... actually forgot I still needed to post chapters. Since I’ve finished the story and was busy editing the previous chapters, it slipped my mind that I hadn’t finished posting everything on ao3 xD</p><p><b>Changes so far:</b> I have edited a bunch of stuff on the first three chapters, nothing that changes the overall story so if you don’t want to reread them: <br/>- there are now multiple high mages, Hilary isn’t the only one (people who are both attacks and defense melomages) they are just rare, kind of like the soloists of this world :)<br/>- Eddy is more emotional when receiving Brett’s letter in chapter 1 and starts getting suspicious faster, he also carved a spell on his door so discretion spells would work better in it.  <br/>- Brett has more interactions with Hyung and other melomages on chapter 2<br/>- I have fleshed out a bit more some characters and the mysterious “higher ups“ I kept mentioning are members of the Ministry of Defense. <br/>- The girl saying mean things about Eddy in chapter 3 is even meaner.</p><p> </p><p>On that note, enjoy this interlude! Thank you Ria for the wonderful beta reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Audric I (story of a merchant) </span>
</h1><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 4548 of the Sun-Moon calendar - Spring</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amir!” his mother wrung her hands together, worried brows. “Are you sure you want to do this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s all going to be fine, Mom, don’t worry,” he kissed her forehead. “There is so much more I can learn, so much to discover and to invent, but I can’t do it if I stay stuck in Khan. You know that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the perfect time of the year to start his travel; flowers blooming on his path, birds chirping as he played his dizi, the cool breeze keeping the sun from getting too hot on his skin. The world was urging him to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been lucky throughout his life, fast mouth and faster mind carrying him easily above hardships, opportunities thrown at him despite the little country stuck to the western border of Lao Ang he was born in. Angish teachers were fascinated by the ease with which this boy from Khan had learned to weave, crossing the border every day to learn by them, their art, their music, and their language.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amir looked at the sky and echoes of possibilities made him giddy. Weaving was fine but so rigid; so strict and full of rules about what to do and what not to do. Why submit to the laws dictated by the tapestry of the world when you could command its threads? Who knew what other kinds of magic laid unknown in this vast world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waved his goodbyes to his natal village without much regret, flute at his belt, and three gold coins in his purse, setting his own path in this world.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 4555 of the Sun-Moon calendar - Autumn</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you already want to leave... Was the South Archipel not to your liking?” Mei Ho raised an eyebrow as she assessed the man she had already seen too much of in the past months, not minding her tone wasn’t appropriate for an eight-year-old addressing a grown man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amir Lyan stood on the deck of the ship, dizi hanging from his belt and wonders from his trade stacked on the docks. His skin was darkened by the days at sea and on the road, black hair and eyes likening him to the Angish people he was navigating amongst but one look at his western features sufficed to remind of his status as a foreigner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You talk like an adult, little Mei,” Amir laughed, unphased by the coldness of her gaze, maybe not as potent after the man first seven trips on the Golden Dragon. “No, it was nice but I feel the world still has much to offer me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to call me Miss Ho, not little Mei. How will you pay the captain this time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter how much the cheer and teasing of the man annoyed her, she had to admit the treasures he brought back at each of his passages on the ship she had spent her life on awoke her curiosity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I made a lot of money from selling one of my inventions to the council of weavers in Dewen-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have little care for how you make a living,” she interrupted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know, sorry,” his smile didn’t waver. “My point was, I’ve got a bunch of gold but I also discovered a rare painting that I’m pretty sure is from Hokusai in an inn I was staying at. The guy had no idea of the value it had and practically gave it to me. I thought your dad would be more interested in it than mere coins for a fee.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t call him ‘your dad’, he’s the captain for you,” she bristled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amir laughed again and tried to ruffle her hair but she swatted his hand away before he could touch her. She was the adoptive daughter of the captain of the Golden Dragon and would not be messed with by a foreign merchant, no matter the riches and curiosities he brought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are not a cute little girl, Miss Ho,” he grinned, spinning his dizi in his hand as men loaded his belongings on the lower deck, one of them carrying a painting covered by a white cloth directly to her father’s cabin. “You speak too well and glare at everybody but that’s definitely a plus in my books. If I have a daughter one day, I hope she’ll be like you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to find a wife before that, I don’t see that happening any time soon,” she snapped back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I could always adopt you, what do you think?” he joked, leaning on the railings. “Take you to my native country, make you visit the inlands a little. Khan is lovely at this time of the year, all red and golden leaves.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I already have a father, and he’s much better than you. Plus I have no interest in the inlands. I was born on the Golden Dragon, and I will die on the Golden Dragon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand fell on her shoulder, and she raised her head to the proud face of her father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well said, true words from a true marine,” he congratulated her before turning his attention to the foreigner. “Good evening, Mister Lyan, nice to have you back on my ship, but I would prefer it if you didn’t antagonize my daughter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She knows how to defend herself, don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Mei Ho asserted, gaining a chuckle from both men.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are sailing toward Spanglan this time,” the captain made a gesture toward the west. “Do you think your little inventions will be popular there? From my experience, westerners aren’t big on weaving.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure what I do can be called weaving anymore,” Amir breathed a few notes on his dizi, the cheery tune making one of his boxes by the docks move by itself, floating above sailors’ heads until it sagely lowered in front of them. “I think,” his eyes sparkled, “as long as it’s useful they’ll like it. And who knows what I can learn there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The merchant was definitely too proud of himself and his little tricks, Mei Ho thought. But her father didn’t seem to share her opinion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll go far in this world, Amir Lyan from Khan,” there was an impressed lilt to his voice, and she rolled her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 2677 of the Western calendar - Winter</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Or Year 4557 of the Sun-Moon calendar - Winter)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“The West is full of wonders,” Amir articulated in Surian, proud of how fast he had managed to learn the language.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman lying naked next to him might have been a big part of his motivations to be able to express himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you mean me, or those manuscripts you’ve been devouring?” she teased, her chin pointing at the stacks of books and paper he had brought back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My appetite is not limited to reading,” he kissed her shoulder and she laughed, making him think for the first time since he had left his house at seventeen of maybe settling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You became way too good at this talking thing way too quickly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was always good at talking, I just didn’t have the words in your language to show you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked at her shake her head with a fond smile and sat-up on the bed, grabbing the dizi on the nightstand and a book so old he had to take several minutes to turn the pages, careful not to have them crumble under his fingertips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The western melody sounded strange on his instrument, his ear used to the pentatonic scales of Lao Ang and the Southern Archipel. He watched his threads raise in the air, intertwining themselves to follow the symbols marked on the book, tightening and going away in shimmers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did your magic again, didn’t you?” she guessed, despite not being able to see him thread.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Try and call your brother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you want him to see us like that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, just do it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, you’ll take full responsibility for it. Hey! Arnold!” Nobody answered her. “Arnold! Come here!” she yelled louder, only to be met with the same result.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She glanced at him, and the smile on his face must have been proud because she chuckled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s you, isn’t it? You’ve isolated us, somehow, with this magic flute of yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t invent that spell. The melomages- the Ancient of your Tower did,” he tried for modesty. “But I mixed it up with some of the knowledge I have from eastern weaving. It’s crazy, what we could do by mixing those up. The Ancients here in Prass were definitely on to something; by exploiting the power from the Tower correctly, one could take on the world,” he babbled, hands moving as he spoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe start with Prass, first,” she joked. “The world will come later, there is much to fix here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 6 of the New Surian calendar - Spring</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(or Year 4565 of the Sun-Moon calendar)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He was overlooking the bustling of Prass, elbows resting on the stone railing of his newly constructed palace’s balcony, spells of his invention keeping it out of harm’s way. In case anybody in Prass decided to contest his authority by attacking his residence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a dizi at his belt, the day was bright, the air carrying the same smell of flowers as that morning he had left Khan, full of a desire to learn more than weaving, carrying the same crisp feeling as that morning he left the South Archipel, ready to go to the western countries he had never visited before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had taken everything the world had to offer him, learned everything he had deemed interesting enough, married the most interesting woman of all the women he had had the pleasure to meet. But today, as he planned and considered how to revive the Tower and the Ancient’s knowledge to their former glory, to raise up all of Surie around this new but old power, the same excitement took hold of him. So much to do, so much to discover and spread, in this land that had become his. His Surian Empire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Audric the First has a nice ring to it,” his wife leaned on the frame of the door leading to the balcony. “But Amir suits you better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Those people will never accept authority from someone whose name reflects a birth in a small, foreign country on the other side of Bellani they barely know the existence of. Audric is a Surian name, it speaks of strength and distinction.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fit for an emperor, huh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Definitely,” he smiled. “How do you feel about being the first Surian empress?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t say I really mind it,” she joined him near the railing, overlooking this city she had grown up in, the independent State of Prass now the capital of the new Surian Empire. “You are crazy, you know that,” she turned toward him, love and admiration spilling from her eyes. “Amir Lyan, the merchant from Khan, Audric the First, the new Emperor of Surie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was born under a lucky star,” he laughed, feeling like the world was in the palm of his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 37 of the New Surian calendar</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At ten, Bertram knew he was a disappointment in his father’s perfect life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything had been so easy for the first Emperor, with his new magic, his music from another country, his perfect wife, his quick thinking, and unique charisma.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The country had flourished under the first years of his reign, melomages popping up everywhere as the Tower radiated its power, and no one could oppose the magic he had created from amassing knowledge from all over the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Bertram had never been able to see the threads he had so often heard about. Instead, he had inherited a Surian gift from his Prassian mother, average and not fit for the son of an Emperor; he could always tell when the sun would be rising, down to the exact second. The way his father had to force himself to not let the smile on his face drop when his gift was revealed hurt Bertram even more than blatant disappointment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His father had given everything so that melomages could emerge again, so that the new magic he had invented could spread through the west. He knew he couldn’t talk about it though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now isn’t the time</span>
  </em>
  <span> - his father had said - </span>
  <em>
    <span>the world isn’t ready for melomages, and they aren’t ready for the world, there is much to learn about the magic we can make.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bertram had nodded, pretending not to be biting the inside of his mouth to drown the inadequacy, every time he remembered he would never be included in the ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>us’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>his father talked about. Even his mother’s sound reassurances couldn’t help him - </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t have his magic either - </span>
  </em>
  <span>she tried to console - </span>
  <em>
    <span>like every Surian I only have a gift, but he loves me anyway. Your father married me and isn’t going to love me any less because I can’t see the threads he makes. It’s the same for you, you know, you are his son, whatever you inherit from him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 42 of the New Surian calendar - Summer</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The bitterness only grew but helped Bertram see things for what they really were, the filter of adoration one would have for his parents losing thickness until it was reduced to dust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their country was at war against Glanne and Bellani, and his father, lost in his certainty nobody could compete against his oh-so-precious melomages couldn’t realize how precarious the situation was. He also realized behind smiles and hearty laughs, that his father’s cunning had orchestrated this. That this war was only meant to keep making his melomages grow, his research going, his country unified against a common enemy that had nothing to provoke them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought maybe fifteen was too soon to be disillusioned by his father - by the Emperor - but maybe because he couldn’t see the shimmers of threads, only the cold reality could meet his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when his father died like he had lived, dizi on his belt and experimenting with magic, and left his mess of a country to him, Bertram became Audric II with the shadow of his father’s genius over his head, and the weight of his own disappointment in his mouth.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Contribution from by best friend for this chapter:</p><p>Ancient because they were old, at least 20 years of age, what a walking mummy. But Eddy as magnanimous these days so he just said to the thing that turned out to be a creepy old lady (and 21y.o to be exact): you, where is my beverage? I commandeer you to bring me the bubble tea made of bubbles and tea. That will be all….</p><p>Then he dropped the mic</p><p> </p><p>On another note, as soon as I’m finished with editing MeloMania I’m probably going to try and launch myself in another multi chaptered fic BUT I’ve signed a new contract and work is gonna pick up like crazy in 2021 for me so I’ll be extra busy and won’t have as much time to write, so it would be cool if what I write was something that was really enjoyed :)</p><p>I’m hesitating to write a music teacher AU, but 1st, I’ve already written about both Brett and Eddy being violin teachers, so I’m afraid it won’t be interesting and 2nd, there are already a lot of fics like this already in the fandom (the wonderful The Silence Between from Snailsway for exemple) and it might be redundant and lack novelty. But it will be kinda long and follow their relationship from Brett’s very first lesson with Eddy at 14 until they are both late in their 30s and find each other again.</p><p>Another one I thought about would be kinda like Best Friends are the bests, so nothing really new either, focused on small changes between them since they moved together in Singapore. Won’t be very long though.</p><p>Or, one where they meet once at a music camp in Europe or something, and Brett falls in love with Eddy, except he already has a girlfriend, but Brett is really blunt and is just “I guess I’ll wait then“ and for years they develop a long distance friendship with Brett still keeping a continued stream of flirting. This one will probably be longer, but lots of pinning and very slow burn. </p><p>Do tell me which one you would like more, I probably won’t have the time to write them all so :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 15: inside the music</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Please,” he hiccuped, grabbing what was left of the body by the chest, dragging them toward the center, feet skidding in the dirt. “Please give him- give him back… Please….” his voice died out, but it didn’t matter, he couldn’t even hear himself. “We just wanted to play music together, this is so unfair- we’ve always- we always just wanted to play together.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, so close to the end! Finally! I’ve finished editing the first five chapters and interludes, I think by the end of December I should be done with editing, and starting the new year I’ll use my free time to probably write the fic where they meet in Europe and Brett tries to court Eddy, even from afar. I think I won’t do another plot heavy fic like this one for a good while xD I was too invested, it was eating away my time. (I would think about it in the shower, in my sleep, when I was cooking, my Google Doc would always be open in the background even when I was working - too invested).</p><p>Enjoy this very emotion heavy chapter :) Thank you Ria for the wonderful beta reading :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Chapter 15: Inside the music</span>
</h1><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - November 11th</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Hilary knew chaos. She had been fighting for a long time now. In the capital, in the South, in the East, in big battles and skirmishes; she thought she had seen too much already. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the burst of events that exploded in front of her eyes left her dumbstruck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Melomages and civils swarmed the palace the instant the shield disappeared. There were furious screeches instead of music, guards coming out for a last stand to protect their Emperor, steel clashing, artifacts thrown, yells, and clamors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the middle of this, kneeling on the ground, ignoring the sweep of angry Prassians passing by them, a sister and a best friend wept above an unmoving body, wailing the unfairness of this in panicked gestures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could faintly hear some Chopin drowned in the noise, Sophie’s fingers were shaking on the keys, silvery threads wrapping and probing, trying to heal to no avail.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Tower!” someone said. “We need to take him to the Tower!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Brett croaked and raised his head, face streaked with tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A man charged on a guard with a yell, shoulder knocking Hilary’s and she winced, the injury in her arm throbbing. There was an explosion, a red artifact thrown at the doors of the palace - too familiar, the same gem that robbed her of her husband. The rest of the conversation was lost on her, white noise in her ears as she bit her lower lip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hilary, go help them!” Belle grabbed her, keyboard strapped around her shoulder. “I’ll save my brother, but right now the fate of this country depends on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snapped her eyes up from the dent the explosion had left in the ground. The guards and melomages faithful to the Emperor were fighting back, lashing at their invaders. Surians against Surians. In the corner of her vision, Eddy was hoisted up by Oliver and Brett as they trudged away.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was too much, why were people always expecting so much of her? She was just a violinist, a good musician. Not a leader, not a Master, nothing. Why was she the one who had to help when she was feeling so lost?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please, they won’t make it to the throne room without you, it’s a bunch of underage melomages and angry civilians up against Masters of the Tower and the best of the army.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Sophie stood by her, grabbing her violin. “We won’t be any good to anyone standing here. Go help your brother Belle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belle sent her a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like your new confidence. Be careful in there, war is ugly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We know,” Sophie and Hilary answered in one breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>War was ugly. And messy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But this was worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no General, no tactics, nobody was properly trained, only propelled by their rage; the desire for vengeance Hilary could read on their faces echoing in her heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tried to protect as much as she could, her golden threads propelling guards against walls, crossing in front of civilians when a sword went for their guts, but people still died all-around - some faces she knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They progressed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flight of stairs after flight of stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ranks thinning with each new floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Civilians had been the first to die. Untrained and unprepared. Then guards, no match for the power of magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only music now. Angry screeches of melomages fighting against themselves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She heard Old Gregor’s booming laugh, then a strangled groan, coughing, and when she turned her head, he had been hit by the chaos, his enormous form folded against a tapestry, eyes empty, blood coming from his head, red invisible against the velvet of the decoration. His mouth was still open around a grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least he had died how he had lived.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ray, Alex, and Toni still followed, defense melomage almost useless in the burst of violence. No time for them to carefully thread defense and carve artifacts. But they were still here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could see in Sophie’s eyes the coldness that came with battle, the emotional distance they needed to survive to the next day, heart bearing the same callous as their fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the music stopped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No more enemies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only a handful of young melomage, her, and the door that stood between them and the throne room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that shit! Why is the army even still in the streets?” Brett panted, arms circling Eddy’s middle, trying to keep him up on his own now that Oliver had let go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The steel of his sword was the percussion to Belle hammering chords on her keyboard, threads slashing at skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Retreat!” the woman fighting Oliver order the other two kept at bay by Belle. “This isn’t worth it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even trained guards from the capital were no match for a knight who had known war - even a knight of Oliver’s stature - and an attack melomage. They scurried off toward the palace, leaving Oliver to sheath his sword and relieve Brett of Eddy’s full weight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had no idea how he was still holding it together. Eddy was going cold and stiff in his arms and they had already been stopped thrice by guards on their way to the Tower. Belle and Oliver had fought together to keep him and Eddy unarmed in their slow progress but every interruption was making the claw around Brett’s lungs tighten. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He refused to ponder on the fact his best friend was maybe dead. That no breathing and no heartbeat mostly equaled to no return.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would save him. They would save him. The Tower would save him. Something would save him, and he wouldn’t rest until he had found what and how.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t die,” he whispered against his hair, not acknowledging the glances full of pity Oliver was sending his way. “We’re almost there. The Tower’s right there, Eddy. It’ll heal you somehow, stay with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They passed under its shadow; the Tower he had left more than three years ago, swearing he would get Eddy out of there too. And now he was returning willingly, dragging his partner’s body, cheeks mated with dried tears and short on breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate this place,” he heard Belle mutter as they stepped on the plaza, the doors wide open like he had never seen them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was too quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They could still hear the yelling, explosions, and music rising from afar, from the invasion of the palace. But here, as they passed the stone doors, there wasn’t a soul, a noise between the marbled columns of the main hall. Just their panting and shoes hitting the floor, echoing high above their head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had never known a silent Tower, and coldness seeped into him. Death felt like it was lurking around, pulling his best friend from him in the emptiness of the white Tower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then there was stumbling, feet rushing down the stairs, a scream, and the face of Mrs. Chen, aghast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened?! Why isn’t he moving?” she shouldn’t have any breath left in her, but somehow she could still cry out, pitch going high as she realized how wrong things were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Belle! What happened to your little brother?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Brett whispered, unable to look into her eyes, not stopping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kept dragging the unmoving body of her son toward the stairs leading down. He couldn’t stop now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s you, brats...” Someone uttered, disbelief tainting the tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned toward them and met the face of their old music teacher, looking as tired as ten years ago. It flashed before his eyes. Seven years old Eddy grabbing his hand and standing as tall as he could in front of their teacher </span>
  <em>
    <span>- I want that - </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had said about the violin. The old music room, the piano in the corner - his own rage as he had smashed the keys four years later, threads erupting of him, Eddy yelling his name. The men who had grabbed him. The Tower, and his best friend’s defiant face, after he had defended his choice of following him, the two of them stuck there together for years to come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He faltered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was all his fault. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he hadn’t lost control that day, if he hadn’t insisted on learning the violin, even before that, nothing would have happened, and Eddy would still be breathing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened to my son?! Someone answer me!” Mrs. Chen cut them again, inserting herself between them and the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom, we don’t have the time, right now,” Belle grabbed her by the shoulder and moved her away without force.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The salt on his cheeks was washed away by new tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again, throat raspy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belle sent him a glance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keep going, I’ll handle Mom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha- Why do I need to be handled?! Just tell me-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conversation between the Chen women faded into white noise as he walked. Pushing away everything that wasn’t Eddy’s weight at his side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t been there in years, but he couldn’t forget where to go. They had explored everything, every corner of this Tower as teenagers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nudged open the door under the stairs with his feet, no protection left to forbid him entry, Oliver still helping him in silence, struggling with Eddy’s limbs falling over him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you so fucking heavy,” he seethed without bite. “Just wake up and walk on your own.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t expecting any, but his heart still squeezed as he got no response, his partner cold like he had never been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And one step at a time, they descended in the bowels of the Tower, pulled by the hope of a miracle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you proud of you, now, Hilary, with your little revolution? I thought I had taught better than that,” Master Omon ground his teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was dispossessed of his oboe, sitting beside the Emperor, the Prime Minister, and two guards on the chairs lined up at the left of the throne room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Arne died in that explosion,” she just answered, not opening her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was focused the Bach Adagio, on the prison of threads she was building around them, slow and careful in her execution, not worried about any of them escaping with Sophie posed in front of them, hand on her bow, ready to send them back to their chairs at the slightest movement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Arne Beck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The bodyguard?” Master Omon’s confusion kept climbing in his tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My husband.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lowered her instrument, satisfied with the spell shimmering one last time, forbidding the five men from crossing the barrier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The old Master did seem sorry, eyebrows creased, trying to get smaller in his chair despite his size. She remembered when he had been the closest thing from a father to her. It didn’t matter now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything was starting to be under control, now. The Tower was theirs, the Palace was theirs, the Emperor and masters who had repressed them for so long were either dead or in this room, prisoners of her magic. Alex, Ray, Toni, and some of the civilians that were still alive were coordinating the final steps, evacuating the injured, and cleaning up bodies. Some were already discussing sending an emissary to meet with the Bellannian and Glannish armies marching on them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she felt so, so tired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She carried her weight toward the steps climbing toward the throne and sagged on the lowest one, rubbing her eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding her violin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand stroked her shoulder as Sophie sat beside her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be okay. We stopped the spell, they’re done draining our energy now. Tomorrow we’ll feel so much better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In front of them, laid the remains of the spell; chairs organized around a conductor stand, gems, and artifacts to amplify the sound as much as they could. This was the makeshift orchestra where they had found the melomages threading the shield.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know… Why are we even doing this…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rage and responsibilities had carried her this far and now the strings of her motivation had been cut sharp - nothing left in her to keep her moving, nothing to make her expectant for the next day to come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know we had to stop them from erasing Surie from the map, it couldn’t meet the same fate as Dewen. We couldn’t let this spell go through!” she raised her voice, determination seeping into her words, so sure of her principles. Of what had to be done.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hilary envied it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh God, do you really believe the nonsense you’re spouting?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two of them turned toward the chairs on the left to see the Emperor roll his eyes. Hilary still had trouble processing how young he looked, away from the TV screens and official addresses - younger than her - how skinny he looked, dwarfed by his heavy crown and velvety attire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do, actually.” Sophie stood her ground. “We know what you were trying to do. We know it’s the same plan as a shield who erased a country fifteen years ago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know what happened in Dewen, I am not that obtuse and misinformed,” Audric II bit, every inch of his expression the one of a petulant teenager. “My father- he was the one who invented that shield, he worked like there was no tomorrow to revise his plans after the- after Dewen. I will grant you that, he made a mess of this country then left me to deal with it, but nobody can say he didn’t know what he was doing where it concerned melomages! It would have actually worked this time!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How would you know?” Alex shook his head from where he was. “You’re not a melomage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Believe me, I know that,” he seethed. “That is why I’m clear-headed! I don’t think my music can just- can magically solve every problem, so I look into things for real. How can you both be so blind? For real? We have foreign armies walking all over our country, and you chose this time to start a revolution? Couldn’t you at least have waited until everyone was safe? Do you know what’s happening, outside the capital? Villages are burning! People are being killed! And this country, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>country, is being burned into ashes because your little revolution couldn’t wait!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was rambling at this point, gestures wild as he paced in the constraint of the prison of threads. He wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t an evil mastermind, he seemed like a lost youngster desperate for his country to hold together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It wouldn’t have worked,” Sophie shook her head. “I told you, we have the plans. We studied them. Some people I would trust with my life researched all night long and still found out it was going to cut Surie from reality. And even- even if it didn’t, would you have been willing to take the risk?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You talk of war,” Hilary sided by Sophie. “But we had the opportunity of a peace treaty, and you threw it by the window for your ploy, to let the fate of this country rest in the fantasy of a magical shield that could backfire on us instead of diplomacy and hard work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know nothing about the work of ruling a country, don’t give me moral lessons,” the young Emperor spat. “Congrats on finally breaking this country down, I guess. This isn’t my responsibility anymore, let’s see how you handle it now!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Let’s see how they would handle it, indeed. Everything seemed so complicated, and too many people were looking at her, waiting for her to take decision after decision. Had they been wrong? Maybe the shield would have worked, and protect everyone from outside menaces. Maybe they could have waited. Maybe it was for nothing, and because of them, people were killed out there. She rested her head against the window of the throne room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Outside, it has started raining, the sound soothing despite the situation, and she breathed in the fresh air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The piano outside will be ruined,” someone pushed a cup of coffee in her hands, and Hilary looked up to see Sophie’s soft smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where did you get this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some civilians started distributing food and drinks. In a few hours, a small group will be sent to meet with Glanne and Bellani with a white flag and hopefully starts some negotiation. We’ll have to be there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hilary nodded, burning her tongue on the beverage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I admit, I don’t look forward to it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We did the right thing.” Sophie breathed in and closed her eyes, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. “We did it to save the friends we have who are still alive. To avenge those who are not. To protect all the kids out there who are picking up an instrument for the first time. This system - this country made no sense, it’s a patchwork of States holding up together in fear of a common enemy that doesn’t really exist. It’s just- it was fucked up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t talked to you that much before, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I spent too much time with Brett and Eddy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hilary snorted before sobering up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did anybody went to check on them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure, there’s a lot to deal with here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wonder how they’re doing…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett laid him on the ground, cold body on dirty earth, cracks running through it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And from that point where the acoustic lines met; soundwaves. He could feel them running against his skin, hitting his chest, almost pushing him back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we supposed to do?” Oliver frowned, not daring to get closer to the nexus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Brett mumbled, eyes darting around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On each of the indent in the soil, rested a carved stone, all cracked and devoid of any magic now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A spell. Of course. It would have been too simple to just throw Eddy’s body into the nexus and hope for the best. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett wasn’t a defense, he had never made any complicated spell, never crafted anything, never built shields - how was he supposed to know what to do?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, fuck- think, Brett, think…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushed his hair back in nervous gestures and paced, glancing at his best friend every two seconds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Would he have the time to run back to the palace and grab a defense melomage not taken up in the attack? What were even the chances they knew what spell Eddy had used? He must have researched for years before finding that spell to communicate with the music. Was there anybody who could help him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A dry chuckle escaped him when he realized the only person who could help him with Eddy was Eddy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh yes!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver jumped at his outburst.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He spent years working on that thing! Eddy wouldn’t let it up to chance, he must have- the spell must be written somewhere! And spare artifacts, too, in case something went wrong.” He bent down and grabbed one of the cracked stone for reference. “Watch over him, I’ll be back!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Brett had set off already, panting as he burst into the hall, ignoring Belle’s shouts to climb up the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Up and up and up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the way to Eddy’s room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His breath left him in whistles, short and thin. Not enough oxygen running through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>His throat hurt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hated those stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was so strange to be able to just barge into the defense quarters when he always had to sneak up before. But all defenses were fallen, all noise had stopped, and all spells vanished.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Barren.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he opened the door to Eddy’s bedroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t changed in three years; bed still facing the door, blue and grey comforter, plushies they had guilt-tripped Master Deauclaire in buying for them, desk cluttered. The half messy, half organized space, bedcover undone, papers floating around, music sheets on a pile on the ground, scraps of leather on the desk - the same leather as the one from his wristband - the odd romance novel lost in between psychology and research books…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt like crying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t dead yet, Brett,” he shook himself. “You can’t mourn what isn’t dead, but you can fucking try to save it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver sagged against the wall, heart heavy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should have been ecstatic; he was in the Tower. That white building he had spent his childhood staring at whenever he sneaked from his parent’s domain to the city, eyes full of wonders. So many of his questions could be answered, so many others could be raised, feeding his everlasting curiosity. The source of Surian magic was pulsing right in front of him, but bitterness was poisoning the discovery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was an optimist. Whatever the circumstances, he always tried to see the best in situations, the best in people, the best of outcomes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Eddy was dead, there was no way around it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart had stopped beating, his lungs had stopped breathing. Every second Brett fell deeper into denial, he had to bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything. He could still feel the indent of his teeth in his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything felt a bit foreign, everyone seemed different, and not in a fun, worth-exploring way. The city he was born in was stranded by civil war, the knights he had served with were dead at the front, Brett’s pain was making him unable to face the truth, and Eddy was lying at his feet, body cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, if I had someone who cared about me the way Brett cares about you, I would be more mindful of my life. Seriously mate, Miss Zhao told us times and time again not to mess with threads, she told you not to grab them with your hands, what did you think would happen? I’m not a melomage but even I know that it would end badly. And now your best friend is losing his mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think he feels concerned by your moral lesson. Where did Brett go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart rate picked up, cheeks burning as he recognized the voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Belle. He- I’m not sure, he said something about Eddy writing a spell somewhere, and artifacts…” She frowned and he licked his lips before apologizing. “And, huh, sorry. I didn’t mean to say bad things about your brother, I was just- I, huh- I don’t know,” he gave up, then spied another woman behind the pianist and hesitated. “Mrs. Chen? Are you sure you want to be here? I’m not sure this is the last image you want to have of your son.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The last image I have of my son was that of an eleven years old,” she snapped back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Oliver winced and retracted on himself, deciding not to open his mouth anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was an idiot and the Chen women were terrifying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His resolve crumbled when Belle’s mother knelt by her son, a shaky hand reaching for his hair, phishing it back to have a good look at his face. At least he had a peaceful expression, eyes close and mouth slack, not like others he had seen on the battlefield, face contorted in horror and pain even in death.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned his gaze away, but Belle leaned on the wall beside him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be so quick to judge the situation beyond repair,” she whispered. “I thought you would have more faith than that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Belle… I’ve never seen dead people come back to life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t dead,” her lips tightened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had all lost their mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you say so…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They glanced at each other and he fiddled with his sleeve, not in any mind to antagonize her further. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you were half decent with a sword,” her chin pointed toward the weapon at his waist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did survive the war until now, you know. And I was in the middle of the battlefield.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess I thought it was dumb luck,” she shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence fell between them, heavy with Mrs. Chen’s sobs and the soundwaves hitting every wall of the round space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he said again, crossing his arms in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I feel half the time you talk to me, it’s to apologize. I’m not even sure what you’re apologizing for at this point.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s because when I don’t, I’m an insensitive bastard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A raspy noise escaped her throat as if she had tried to laugh but sadness had kept the sound from being fully formed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a bit harsh on yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not. You were right to be angry at me, that time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” she sighed. “But I was pissed and not thinking clearly. I said things I didn’t mean, too. I shouldn’t have treated your feelings that way, or tell you how you were supposed to feel. That wasn’t very mature of me. You still irritate me a bit, but I don’t really want you to start ignoring me because you feel guilty, what pissed me the most was that you completely stopped talking to me afterward.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oliver squinted at her, spreading his arms open in incomprehension. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get it, you were the one ignoring me. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me, was I wrong? I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Children!” Mrs. Chen glared at them. “This is a completely inappropriate discussion to have right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belle turned toward her mother, and her eyes widened, staring at something Oliver couldn’t see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brett!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t answer, he was wheezing and panting, going so fast down the stairs he didn’t know if it wasn’t more of a controlled fall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brett!” he heard Oliver’s voice yell again from the main hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bag of stones in his hand was hitting his thigh with each step, the spell’s paper crumbling in the palm of his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Those fucking stairs. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” he rasped as soon as he could see the blond head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Eddy!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s always Eddy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t ask for more, he just pushed the door leading down with his shoulder, not sure he was ready for the steps leading down but ignoring the way his legs trembled, Oliver at his heels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t see at first.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Belle and Mrs. Chen were huddled around Eddy’s body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then they rose higher, above their heads.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The white threads.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushed the women away, uncaring. Uncaring that they loved Eddy too, that they were family, that they grieved the same as him - no, not grieving, he wasn’t dead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From his best friend’s chest, from his fingers, from his hip; pure white threads rose, glowing so bright he was almost blinded. They moved on their own, slipping away from the body laid on the ground, floating toward the nexus with each soundwave, attracted by it when everything else was pushed back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s body was being undone, thread of him by thread of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, no, not now. Not now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett scrambled up, reaching for the carved stones he had found in the bedroom, those still radiating with magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked at the explanation on the paper in his hand, Eddy’s terrible, terrible writing making him swear as he disposed each stone on the cracks in the earth with shaky hands. Hoping it was the right spacing, the right order. Why couldn’t it be him, laying on the dirt? Eddy would know what to do for sure, he wouldn’t be struggling like Brett was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait for me, Eddy. Don’t disappear yet- not now,” he kept muttering, looking around for his-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck. He had left his violin at the palace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keyboard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took three strides toward the only instrument in the room, ripping the keyboard off Belle’s shoulder, ignoring her sounds of protest, and ran back toward Eddy, dropping by him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabbed his hand and tried to drag the body toward the nexus. His fingers slipped; sweaty and trembling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hand in his disappeared, threads fleeing from the body toward the pulsating sound waves and he could swear he heard the magic purr. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stones were singing, his heart was aching, his body a broken instrument, blood vibrating, ligaments taunt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he hiccuped, grabbing what was left of the body by the chest, dragging them toward the center, feet skidding in the dirt. “Please give him- give him back… Please….” his voice died out, but it didn’t matter, he couldn’t even hear himself. “We just wanted to play music together, this is so unfair- we’ve always- we always just wanted to play together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s weight got lighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eye, he could see Belle, Oliver, and Mrs. Chen helping him, pushing the two of them toward the center of the acoustic lines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head was ringing, heart quivering and he smashed the keyboard, red threads erupting, wrapping around them both.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know, another cliff hanger xD but hey, we’re so near  the end, it’s impossible to stop without having a cliff hanger at this point. Thank you all for the comments and support :D Have a nice day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Love will be your saving grace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>Foolish! Are we left again fixing the mistakes of humans? Saving you from yourself. Your love will be your only saving grace.</em>
</p><p>Everything whitened.</p><p>A whistle drowning all noise.</p><p>Threads tightened everywhere.</p><p>
  <em>This is the last time you rip the world open.</em>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone :) I really hope Brett will recover soon, and I'm sure Eddy is taking very good care of him! Get ready for some fluff from me to compensate, I'll probably postpone the long fic I had planned and just post some short fluffy one-shots until  they're good again (I won't bear write anything angsty while Brett's not well)</p><p>Thank you Ria for beta reading this once again!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Love will be your saving grace</h1><p> </p><p>
  <em> Year ???? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Where is he?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We are sorry. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He was nowhere and everywhere, floating above Prass, concealed under the Tower, running through cracks in the earth, and flying with each whispered word.</p><p> </p><p>He could see the pattern now. How tightly knit and woven everything was. Ordered. Interdependent.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Where is he?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> With us, but we cannot give him back. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He thought he could feel it, maybe. Hidden in the voices echoing inside of him, the deep timbre of his intonation. In the sorry feelings surrounding him, the warmth of his love.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “He’s here. Eddy! Eddy! Answer me!” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> We are sorry. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Stop saying that! It doesn’t help!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t feel his own body but tried to reach with invisible limbs toward everything that felt like his best friend.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We tried to help. We like the music you make. Together. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He saw himself in the Tower. Smaller and younger, sending a look to the person at his left above his violin. He saw the both of them smile at each other. Try not to laugh in the middle of the duet.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I can’t lose this.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He ripped the image open, stumbling in the void of the music, latching to everything that felt like his best friend. Ignoring the voices of the music in his mind, he grabbed at perfect pitch and shyness, at devotion and sensitiveness, at intelligence and forgetfulness. </p><p> </p><p>The music helped, somewhat, pointing to him all the memories they had of each other in this Tower.</p><p> </p><p>He grabbed it. Everything. Cradling in his heart all that made his best friend.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I knew he was there. I have him. Please! Put him back in his body!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There are not enough threads for him. We cannot steal from the fabric of the world. It is ripped apart already. Too damaged.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Take mines, then! I don’t care! My body’s still in one piece is it not?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There was no answer. No voices resonating in him, but confusion floating around.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Do it!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> We cannot take from a human to make another. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Yeah? Well, I can!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He saw his own body, laying on the dirt, The white threads of Eddy’s own still disappearing. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You cannot do this! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Watch me.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And he reached an invisible hand in his chest, ripping threads from it, pulling until they came away, vibrating with life.</p><p> </p><p>There was a scream somewhere, but he didn’t pay any attention, trying to remember everything Yixuan Zhao had taught them about healing, and he weaved.</p><p> </p><p>Knotting the threads on Eddy’s arms, on Eddy’s legs, weaving him back to the best he could, not minding he could feel himself fall apart. </p><p> </p><p>When it looked as close to a human body as it could, he pushed all he had gathered. All the memories and the feelings, all the good and the bad of Eddy he had grabbed. Forced it into his chest.</p><p> </p><p>There was anger around him. A torrent of disapproval and panic. A mental slap on the cheek.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Foolish! Are we left again fixing the mistakes of humans? Saving you from yourself. Your love will be your only saving grace. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Everything whitened.</p><p> </p><p>A whistle drowning all noise.</p><p> </p><p>Threads tightened everywhere.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is the last time you rip the world open. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Year 51 of the New Surian calendar - November 14th </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eddy opened his eyes to a ceiling of stones, a body lying on his own, wrecked cries, and the memories of everything that had happened in the music.</p><p> </p><p>They were lying on the dirt floor of what was just an empty room where nothing was happening anymore. No energy flowing through the acoustic lines, no soundwaves in the center. No magic. He had felt it when Brett had forced him back in his body and the music had fixed his sloppy work before just- leaving. </p><p> </p><p>His best friend’s voice was cracked, fist tightened on his shirt and his heart exploded with shared angish. He never wanted to see him like this.</p><p> </p><p>“Brett? I’m here. I’m here, Brett. You did it.” </p><p> </p><p>He raised his hands - they were shaking - and cradled his partner’s head. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m- I’m sick of this,” he broke, forehead resting on Eddy’s chest, tears wetting everything. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t watch you disappear like that. I can’t...”</p><p> </p><p>His voice sounded wrong. Higher than usual. Closer than usual.  </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispered.</p><p> </p><p>A hiccup. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s too much. I can’t. If you disappear again, I’ll go with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eddy... Fuck, Eddy. You have no right. Every time you- when you unphase like that-” a strangled sob. “It’s years of my life that go away. You have no idea… No idea. I’ve got nothing left. I can’t-”</p><p> </p><p>Brett shook his head and sat up, a strange smile on his lips as his eyes didn’t focus. Eddy’s hands slipped from the back of his head to his cheeks. They were wet and too warm.</p><p> </p><p>“I see my face,” Brett whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Eddy frowned at how strange his own voice was. So low and far away.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah. I screwed up,” Brett just rasped, leaning his face in Eddy’s palm.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter. You’re here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I am.”</p><p> </p><p>And Brett melted into him again. Breathing against the skin of his neck, whole body plastered against his.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” he whispered against Brett’s hair.</p><p> </p><p>“If you do, don’t ever pull that shit again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dying?”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly. I’m too tired to deal with it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll try my best.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I love you too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I gathered,” Eddy couldn’t hold back his smile.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>They had to get up, eventually, once Brett’s tears had dried, and Eddy’s back started aching from the hard ground. </p><p> </p><p>And then he understood what Brett had meant by <em> “I screwed up” </em>when he let go of him and all noise ceased.</p><p> </p><p>Not even the sound of his breathing, not the steady thump of his heartbeat, not Brett’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>He could see him open and close his mouth in front of him, but nothing came out.</p><p> </p><p>“Brett?” he panicked. “I can’t hear you? What’s happening.”</p><p> </p><p>His best friend swore and extended his hands, reaching hazardously until he managed to grab Eddy’s wrist, and all came back in one dizzying rush. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” he groaned again. “I told you. I messed us up. I thought it was just me but…”</p><p> </p><p>“Just you?”</p><p> </p><p>“When I came back to myself, it was dark. And once you woke up, the only thing I could see was the ceiling, then my own face. Very disturbing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your own… Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I guess I gave you my sight without meaning to when I randomly stuffed my threads in you. But I didn’t think you also lost something.”</p><p> </p><p>“My hearing…” he realized. That was why his voice had sounded so strange. He was hearing himself through Brett’s ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“You brought me back from the dead, I don’t think we can be picky.”</p><p> </p><p>“You weren’t dead,” Brett’s lips thinned. “I knew you weren’t. They thought I was crazy, but I knew you were here.”</p><p> </p><p>“We should go tell everyone you were right, hey.”</p><p> </p><p>Brett grabbed him by the neck and dragged him down until they were at eye-level, then kissed him.</p><p> </p><p>“Later. We’ll confront reality later,” he whispered against his lips. “Now close your eyes, I don’t want to see my face when I kiss you.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p> They had crept out of the basement with care, hesitant steps against the stone floor. They had no idea what would be the state of Prass. Who had won. Who was still alive. How they would be received.</p><p> </p><p>“Eddy, stop looking at me!” Brett hissed, his hand tightening around his best friend in a warning squeeze. “You’re our only pair of eyes so do try to focus on possible threats rather than my face.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Under any other circumstances, he would have teased him until Eddy was reduced to a blushing mess but at the moment he was too tense. Not knowing what they might face was nerve-wracking.</p><p> </p><p>The hall was empty, nothing hiding behind the marble columns, and the doors were still open, letting them get a glimpse of the plaza. People were milling around, chattering while someone yelled at them.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that… Your mom?” Brett frowned.</p><p> </p><p>In the next heartbeat, they were outside, standing under the grey sky while two Angish women were trying to get the people to go back inside their homes, a Bellanian dragon flying in low circles above Prass.</p><p> </p><p>The women were both of their mothers.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>There was a lot of crying going on. At one point he had been separated from Brett, engulfed in embraces and relief. Eddy thought maybe the dragon above their head warranted some more worry but nobody seemed to agree with him.</p><p> </p><p>Before everything went silent, he only had the time to understand they had been missing for three days, and then he was left staring at the glistening eyes of his mother, trying to read on her lips without any success.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t hear,” he had attempted to say.</p><p> </p><p>His mother mustn't have understood, because she kept on babbling, mouth opening and closing, pushing back his hair from his face, standing on her toes to cradle his cheeks. She looked like she was sobbing. </p><p> </p><p>There was a pang in his chest; a desire to hear every word coming from her mouth. It seemed they were words of love - rare enough to be cherished. </p><p> </p><p>He glanced around, trying to find his best friend in the sea of people that had started to gather around them - he saw some other defense melomages, a look of recognition passing on their face. Then he found him, in between aunty and uncle Yang, talking a mile a minute to his parents, gesturing wildly. And even if he couldn’t hear in his voice, he knew from the crinkles around his eyes, from the smile on his face, from the way he was throwing his head back how enthusiastic and happy he must sound. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t take him away from this moment, so he resolved himself to just enjoy the warmth of his mother’s hug - he would ask her to repeat later. What mattered was that she was there, and she loved him.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Their families and friends had thought they were dead, during the three days they had spent lost inside the music. Sophie had cried when she saw them, Ray tried to joke but choked on his words and Oliver told them in excruciating details every single that had happened between the 11th and the 14th of November.</p><p> </p><p>He had been strangely cheerful when announcing that the Surian Empire was no more. While the Prassians had been busy dealing with the invasion of the palace and the mess that their capital was, lords in various parts of Surie had given up on fighting to defend a country they felt no affiliations to. Before the news that the Emperor had fallen even began to spread, two-thirds of the lands had already reclaimed their independence and let the foreign armies of Bellani and Glanne pass through them. Prass wasn’t a capital anymore, just another state - like it had been for the past thousands of years before Audric I.  </p><p> </p><p>“It kinda calmed them down - Bellani and Glanne, I mean. They met no resistance, the lords practically took them by the hand and guided them to Prass. I guess that’s why when emissaries met them to speak diplomacy, they accepted instead of just burning through the city. Also, your kidnapping by Engelberta and everything might have helped too, Brett. Since one of their own went rogue and abducted you while we were supposed to have a truce, it might play partially in our favor. They might want the Emperor and the higher-ups locked up forever or dead though. Works for me, I’ll admit.” Oliver tilted his head toward the eastern wall where their invaders had established their camp. “We’ve been struggling to feed their men though, so I hope negotiations end soon. Whatever the results.”</p><p> </p><p>“How long have they been in there?” Eddy wondered, still weirded out that he was hearing his voice from his best friend’s perspective - it sounded so <em> low. </em></p><p> </p><p>“It’s been a day or so, but that’s just the beginning, I reckon. Generals can’t make a decision like that for the whole country, so we’ll have to wait for the actual Glannish and Bellanian representatives. But maybe they’ll pull back their armies before that, since we don’t have melomages anymore so we’re not really a threat. Anyway, with that guy surveilling us,” he pointed to the dragon now perched at the top of the Tower, overlooking the city, “it’s not as if anybody will try something funny. Your sister, Hilary Hahn, surprisingly your old Master that made the shield - Aman or something-”</p><p> </p><p>“Omon,” Brett provided.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, him. Well, they’re the ones handling the negotiations with some of the lords of Prass. My father’s in there too, I’m sure he’ll find one way or another to make this work in his favor,” he snorted.</p><p> </p><p>Eddy stared at the Tower in which the future of this place they had grown up in was being decided by his own sister, their old Master, the best violinist in the world, an association of strangers, and felt strangely remote. As if nothing they could decide would change anything in his life. </p><p> </p><p>His mother was still trying to stop civilians from gathering at the plaza, especially with the dragon so close, Sophie had joined Oliver and stood in silence while he rambled about something, the doors of Tower were wild open, almost inviting, and there was no magic anymore. </p><p> </p><p>He was aware of Brett’s fingers threaded in his, how his bones were pressed against his, how rough was the skin where he rubbed unconscious circle against the back of his hand, how cold they felt.</p><p> </p><p>Eddy tugged him a bit closer - to feel the press of his shoulder, the weight of his body - Brett smiled at the gesture - <em> stop staring - </em>he whispered with the hint of a tease at the corner of his lips. And Eddy knew.</p><p> </p><p>That was it. Nothing they could decide would change anything in his life.</p><p> </p><p>He had it by his side.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Brett would roll his eyes so hard they would stay stuck if he knew how mushy Eddy’s thoughts were.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Brett tried to hold back a smile at how smitten Eddy seemed, pulling him closer when they were already plastered against each other, his eyes incapable of letting go of his face for more than a few seconds - it was flattering, if utterly bizarre to have to stare at the top of his own head this much.</p><p> </p><p>The world from this perspective was strange. Sophie seemed so tiny from Eddy’s point of view, even Oliver didn’t look like a tall twig anymore as he sauntered toward them - just a normal twig. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s crazy when you think about it,” the knight raked a hand through his fringe, blond hair coming back to tickle his brown instantly and it was a testimony of how Brett was used to him that the nonsequitur left him unphased. “We lived through such an intense period of history! In about fifty years Surie went from independent states always fighting to one empire flourishing to one empire at war against the rest of the continent to independent states again - and I have no doubts they’ll start fighting each other soon enough. Meanwhile, a whole new way of doing magic was discovered, it revolutionized every battle, everything Surian thought they knew, and now, it’s gone. Melomages came and went, the Tower lived and died, and we’re still here.”</p><p> </p><p>It hit him, how little he wanted to hear about this right now.</p><p> </p><p>They were still here, and Brett was feeling selfish.</p><p> </p><p>He had spent so long worrying, expecting, fighting, reacting. He was feeling tired of everything. Of politics. Of magic. Of war. Of danger. He didn’t care about the outcome of this situation.</p><p> </p><p>Now all he wanted was to drag the man holding his hand somewhere else. Away from all eyes. Lock every door and ignore the world, ignore the state of their country, ignore everything that wasn’t his partner living and breathing and laughing. Take him apart piece by piece until he had his fill, until his lips were bruised and his voice cracked. Play music - actual music - until his fingers hurt, until his cheeks ached from smiling, until his ears ringed with it. And then only they would figure out what was next for them - together.</p><p> </p><p>“Do we deserve fifty years of sleep in exchange for living through that?” he massaged his eyes under his glasses and realized he wouldn’t need them anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Oliver burst out laughing.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a C sharp.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oliver’s laugh! That’s a C sharp!” Eddy’s gloating was so obvious Brett could hear the beam in his voice.  “I haven’t lost it! Even through your ears I still have my perfect pitch.”</p><p> </p><p>“God fucking-”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah, this fic will end on a fluffy note. I... Actually had planned to let Eddy disappear and be one with the music in the beginning, and Brett could only feel him when he played the violin. So very bittersweet.<br/>But my best friend rioted and told me she wouldn't read it if I did that and offered a different ending, since I'm weak, I yield and did as she wanted xD so you can send her your thanks for the more fluffy ending this story took. In the end, I'm glad I listened to her to give some fluff when you probably need it with what's going on :)<br/>Thanks for reading, get ready for the epilogue and some huge author's notes next week, and the we'll finally be done with this monster of a fic</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Epilogue (Happy where he is)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The end of the journey.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>That's it. The end. Damn. I made it. I'm so proud of myself you have no idea xD<br/>When I said work would pick up next year, I didn't anticipate it would pick right now, Goos think I like my work cause I'm so swamped with it I barely even have the time to edit the previous chapters of MeloMania, but I'll try to write some short fluffy one-shot this weekend. </p><p>Enjoy this very fluffy end :)</p><p>Thank you so much Ria for dealing with me and beta reading this almost 100k fic!! All the love</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>Epilogue (Happy where he is)</span>
</h1><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 4614 of the Moon-Sun calendar - 11th day of the Lotus Month</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish we could do this more often,” Madam Ho leaned on the railings near the figurehead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Golden Dragon</span>
  </em>
  <span> was slicing through the waves, wind whipping at their faces, their black hair tangled and dancing like a wild curtain, droplets of water jumping against the hull and flying to their skin. Yixuan’s lips tasted of salt, sea, and freedom when she licked them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me too, but the same way I can’t ask you to settle on earth, I can’t leave my music and Yi Lin’s children.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” her lover offered one of her rare smiles. “I am fine with this, stealing you from your village whenever we fancy a small trip. I wouldn’t mind having more of it, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your fancy should give me some more warning,” Yixuan chuckled. “Sophie still has much to learn and I feel bad about leaving her without direction so often.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young Surian wasn’t a melomage anymore, all that the Tower had given wiped out five years ago, but the potential for magic was still there, and she now had to take the long road to discover weaving anew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can have her on my ship too, you don’t have to let her behind,” Madam Ho raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And who will then take care of Yi Lin’s school every time you decide to dock at the harbor?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You care too much about those children, Miss Zhao,” she sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A yell cut their discussion, coming from somewhere around the mainmast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without surprise, Oliver was laughing and chatting someone’s ear off in a language he didn’t master, compensating his poor skills with a heavy dose of gestures and mimics.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My ship became ten times noisier since I accepted him on board, he is lucky to be a hard worker. What is he so excited about, today?” Madam Ho’s eyes twitched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We will be arriving in Port Magreda soon, won’t we?” Yixuan shook her head with fondness. “I gather he is excited at the prospect of seeing my niece again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of family, how is your nephew?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Happy where he is,” she smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year 2734 of the Western calendar - 3rd of July</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy opened his eyes, blinking around the sleep still incrusted at the corner, frowning at the spot of drool on his pillow. Silence weighed heavy in the bedroom and the sheets to his right were cold. Brett must have been up for a while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Judging by the way the sun filtered through the half-closed curtains and the hunger pulling at his stomach, noon was approaching fast. He stumbled out of bed and staggered half-awake toward the kitchen, half hoping his partner was making some food for them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pot of tea was waiting for him on the table, but no Brett.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He poured some in a cup and sipped it slowly, enjoying the mellow, rich taste of the leaves Oliver had brought back from Lao Ang. He could never go back to bags of cheap, ground tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deafness was actually enjoyable in the mornings, when he was still groggy with sleep and silence cradled him, the world unable to grasp him with its sounds. From the window of their house, they had the best view on the Tower, still strangely imposing, even with its doors now eternally open and white stones guarding nothing but emptiness. He had spent such a major part of his life staring at those walls from the inside, the view reminded him every day how free he was. He never said so out loud, but he knew Brett had understood every one of his unspoken reasons for choosing this house, reading him as easily as always despite his sight being taken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He noticed the door left of the kitchen was open, then, and smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The view on the other side was exactly what he was expecting, what had met his eyes almost every morning for the past five years - sometimes there was another kind of view, when he woke up early enough to still have a warm body beside him, one full of flushed skin and messed up sheets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brett was standing in their practice room, unseeing eyes closed and eyebrows rising with whatever melody came from his violin, his cane resting against the table where his case was open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, like every time he saw that, Eddy crept closer, sitting on the floor, one hand still clasped around his cup of tea, the other one sneaking around his best friend’s leg, fingers closing on the bare skin of his ankle, head resting on his thigh as the third movement of Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto wrapped around him, sound coming back all at once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” he mumbled softly, his own voice almost drowned by the power of the music Brett was making.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His best friend didn’t answer, too focused on his playing, but from his spot on the floor, Eddy spied a smile creeping on his lips anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes and stayed there, enjoying the warmth of his partner’s leg pressed against him, the way the bone of his ankle felt, the sun filtering in the room, caressing the nap of his neck and the melody carrying him on a journey of highs and lows, of the first time he discovered what music was, the first concerto he heard, of afternoons in the Tower, war and worry, of a wild escape from West to East, meeting new people every step of the way. Of settling here, opening their music school, painting the name above the door - </span>
  <em>
    <span>TwoSet Violin</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last chords rang through his ears as Brett put down his violin and loosened his bow, his now free hand racking through Eddy’s hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi, did you sleep well?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmh.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was about to wake you up. We should leave soon if we want to be in Rangan for July seventh.” Before Eddy could answer, he nudged him with the leg that was being held prisoner. “C’mon, get up so I can see what I’m doing, I’ll make us lunch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perfect, I’m starving.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you’re allowed to fix yourself something to eat if you get hungry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m too lazy to cook,” he stood up and only let go of Brett’s ankle to grab his hand, dragging them toward the kitchen after fetching the cane in case it was needed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how I feel about letting Noah be in charge of the school for the whole week we’re away. He might swear at the kids.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You already swore in front of them tons of times, don’t play prude,” Eddy snorted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up and look at the pantry if you want to eat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckled but did as he was told, following his partner’s directions without too much of a fight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe we will hear Hilary play after so long,” he hummed as he stood behind Brett.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His arms were wrapped around his best friend’s middle as he watched him slicing vegetables, careful not to let his eyes stray - the last time he did that had ended up with Brett cutting his finger and he was not ready to bear that guilt again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, I’m surprised she’s performing at all. I don’t know if I could do it if I had lost you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s stronger than us, hey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That she is. The trip to Rangan will be worth it just to hear her perform again. I just wish it wasn’t so far away from Prass, we’ll have to cross through a bunch of Surian states.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Brett, don’t worry too much about the school, there isn’t just Noah; Rose and the others will make sure everything runs smoothly in our absence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You telling me not to stress out is fucking ridiculous,” Brett shook his head with a smirk as he was finishing up the preparations of their meal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nudged Eddy away from him and blindly arranged the plates on the table, used to the disposition of their house after all those years, unable to see the way Eddy was staring at him with a smile too fond before joining him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Brett silently congratulated himself as he ogled at his best friend through the mirror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had taken Eddy some getting used to, but Brett had been sick of staring at himself every time they touched. He had asked to have mirrors installed pretty much everywhere on the house, so his best friend could still look at him while Brett focused on the more interesting part of their reflection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought about the mirror on the ceiling above their bed with a sly smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Certainly his best move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nobody had asked.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much! To everybody who commented and encouraged me and left kudo on this monster of a fic. I feel like crying because of the support I got from all of you, despite not being a favorite, this fic still is (at the time I'm writing) the second most commented fic on the TwoSet fandom and I just... Thank you, you've helped me so much.</p><p>I have this very bad habit of beginning things and never finishing them; the longer it gets, the more I want to give up and just start something new and exciting. Since I started MeloMania in July, I've thought multiple times about just giving up (it doesn't matter, I don't have that many readers, nobody will care, I get tired of putting so many efforts into it, I'll just give a summary of my thoughts for the end, I'll just go back to write easy fluff) <br/>But then every time I received a mail from ao3 about a single new kudo on it, or a single comment, I felt guilty about giving up and got the drive to start another chapter.</p><p>I can't fucking believe I've finished it. I have NEVER finished anything this long in my life, and half of the reason is you :) you got me going and I really hope to see you again on my future works!</p><p>Like I said, the original ending was much angstier, maybe I'll publish this alternative ending for the angst sucker out there. And also maybe a small nsfw chapter featuring the mirror above their bed ;) no promises though, I've really been lacking time lately.</p><p>Once again, thank you so much, I've been writing MeloMania for six months now, and by now I think I know the pseudo of every single person that has commented in here, I love you all &lt;3</p><p>I feel there's so much more I want to say, but I don't really have the words. All I feel is relief and gratitude.</p><p>Have the nicest day/evening/night, you deserve it if you've made it here :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Bonus: Alternative ending</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is the alternative ending I had ready for this fic before being convinced otherwise.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>/!\ TW: Major character death</b>
</p><p>The original bittersweet end I had planned. It's very short because the rest of the details of the world don't change from the epilogue I already published (Sophie still learns Weaving in Lao Ang, Oliver traveling with Madame Ho, etc... only details pertaining to Brett and Eddy's ending changed). It's taking place right after the end of chapter 15: Inside the Music</p><p>Not beta-read because I just typed this right now, after reading an extremely beautiful and lengthy comment that made me want to come back to MeloMania for a little bit :) at least to give this.  (Thank you so much <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizziepoOoOo/pseuds/LizziepoOoOo">LizzizpoOoOo</a> for that essay, I'll answer in due time :))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>BONUS 1: Alternative ending </span>
</h1><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The stones were singing, his heart was beating, his body was a broken instrument, blood vibrating, ligaments aching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he hiccuped, grabbing what was left of the body by the chest, dragging them. “Please give him- give him back… Please….” his voice died out, but it didn’t matter, he couldn’t even hear himself. “We just wanted to play music together, this is so unfair- we’ve always- we always just wanted to play together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddy’s weight got lighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eye, he could see Belle, Oliver, and Mrs. Chen helping him, pushing the two of them toward the center of the acoustic lines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head was ringing, heart quivering and he smashed the keyboard, red threads erupting, wrapping around them both.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Year ????</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where is he?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We are sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was nowhere and everywhere, floating above Prass, concealed under the Tower, running through cracks in the earth, and flying with each whispered word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could see the pattern now. How tightly knit and woven everything was. Ordered. Interdependent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t care.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where is he?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With us, but we cannot give him back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought he could feel it, maybe. Hidden in the voices echoing inside of him, the deep timbre of his intonation. In the sorry feelings surrounding him, the warmth of his love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s here. Eddy! Eddy! Answer me!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We are sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stop saying that! It doesn’t help!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t feel his own body but tried to reach with invisible limbs toward everything that felt like his best friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eddy!! Please! Please you can’t- you can’t leave me! I know you’re here! Don’t leave me...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slipping between the fingers of his mind, wisps of his best friend, passing by, a wave of adoration, stretched memories cut too short, stupid laughter and a warm hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The music had left him alone, he could feel it, curled around him, feeling so- so sorry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stop pitying me. He isn’t- he isn’t dead. I’ll find him.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fingers closed around his wrist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He jumped, barely aware he had a body now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy!” his heart swelled with so much love and relief it started overflowing from his chest, spilling through his lips like red water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy, why are you sorry? I found you, let’s- Let’s go back, let’s put you back in your body and-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The haze surrounding his best friend cleared, his face coming in sharper focus, all angles and sorrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he kissed him, music notes fluttering against his skin, a symphony poured in his mouth, his love was picked up and given back to him through his lips. The fingers on his cheeks sang and Eddy’s small sigh when they parted a taut string tuned in goodbyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddy… “ his tears curled around his everything’s fingers, and he was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick </span>
  </em>
  <span>of losing him. “You have to come back with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s too late. The Music and I… There is so much we have to do, I’m not… I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t leave me…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll never leave you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, it wasn’t just tears that gripped on Eddy when they kissed again, hands pulling at his hair, sobs in his mouth in between sighs of denial, body pressed so close, and closer, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t stay here,” Eddy whispered against his lips. “Or you’ll lose yourself too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care, it doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It does to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like spread in a thousand butterflies, the body against him disappeared, wings of music kissing his skin, whispers of affection trying to dry his tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. Come back”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he opened his eyes, Belle was leaning over him, frantically talking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her face was blurry through his tears, her voice drowned by his crying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t- I didn’t say it back- I didn’t-” he sobbed. “I love you too. I love you too. Please come back. Please…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-ppen? Brett? What happened?” she shook him by the shoulder. “The music- there’s nothing left, Eddy too- they disappeared. What happened? Where is he?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t answer, could feel Belle’s keyboard still under his hands. Pressed the keys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No thread, no magic, no power surging through his veins, just- just music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then a whisper. The caresse of sound on his cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the end of the war came the end of melomage, the Tower nothing but an empty set of white stones, doors eternally open on nothingness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Surian Empire had fallen, each lord had claimed back its land, almost as if this failed unification had never happened. A blip in history books, the fifty, fleeting years of the Surian Empire, melomages forgotten like the first occupants of the Tower, nothing more than books full of spells nobody could use anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cradling two violins against his chest, Brett didn’t care. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As long as he could make music, the world could go explode if it wanted to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because whenever his bow touched the strings, his own magic happened, love and adoration surging and overwhelming; his best friend so intertwined with music itself he spoke back in whispers of sounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Eddy,” he smiled, going over his first scale.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Each piece he made happen under his fingers was a new love confession.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, it was out of tune, I don’t need perfect pitch to hear that,” he replied to the feeling in his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Each reverberation of music in his core was an answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was this rumor about a man traveling the world with two violins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been seen on Madam Ho’s ship, walking in the mountains of Lao Ang, sitting at the back of a cart in the coldness of Rangan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They said every time he encountered a new sight, he got a violin out and played, talking to himself in hushed tones with a smile on his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rumor was that the soul of his lover was trapped inside a violin, and to honor their childhood promise of traveling the world together to play music, the man went over all the best places in the world, letting the sound of his violin’s soul fill the air.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright, so angsty but still a bit hopeful :) now that I got that off my chest, I can go back to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936326/chapters/70998435">Gate Number 40</a> xD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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